Saturday, August 9, 2014

When I slice off my dreads, there are tree rings in it. And I can see everything that my hair had absorbed into itself: laughs I've had, drug paraphernalia, clouds, moods, bug deaths, dances I've danced, food I've eaten ... there're also your thoughts in my hair, your words, your dreams, your past and present. Hidden rings hold it all, the rings that don't talk.

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