Losing His Love And Your Hair

Mat Simpson
Mat Simpson

It wasn’t until my body began this long term, physical change that I realized some travels can’t be un-taken.

This, for me, was absurd. I slowly introduced myself, became acquainted with my surroundings, but each line somehow remained a few inches too thin. Reid was shocked to hear the words leave his own mouth. Wholly aware of its prolific notion, I sat, soaked in denials.

I’m losing his grip, unable to commit to this struggle and stay awake.

I realized one snow day, as we laid on his living room’s floor, among his friends, that this was his only home. I sailed away with an inkling of an indictment. It was us and them and him, alone.

And while it did indeed pain me, it’s helping me commit. I feel Reid fall, back into his own, and I’m present. There’s salvation there where he is.

“Babe, take the fucking shot!” Reid shrieked, downing his own along the way.

It comes and it goes, most of the time — it requires professional help. That night, when he turned off the lights, he said he could feel his mother beneath the rags of his paintbrush. Resisting, the unwanted, lone dog outside on the stoop, wanting in.

I dyed my hair earlier today. And when I go home in two weeks, you will know.

My nana will be there still¸ asking me again about the neighbor girl, changing the channel to something more suitable in nature. You won’t come in, rather you will head to the corner deli and grab some Newports.

I still feel you in there.

When we part, we kiss.

I never want to go bald. TC mark

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