Hair

He cut his hair. When I met my lover he had a full(ish) head of wavy brown hair that hung past his shoulders. On some of our first dates, and even some of our later ones, we would sit out in the sun and I would brush his hair. I’d brush deeply, massage his scalp, and he’d become restful as I mixed into his hair soap and oils. And now his hair is cut.

It feels odd. I know he’s been thinking about this for a long time. The length had become a nuisance to him. He didn’t like shedding hair in a way he felt was constant, and he didn’t like having to pick it out of his laundry or from drains after washing. He says now that his head feels lighter and that I was the one who convinced him to leave it at one inch. To be completely honest, I don’t think I would have been able to bear it much shorter.

I did help him with the trimmers and to make sure that it was cut evenly. I cut off a major portion of his locks and shuddered all the while. He still looks as attractive as he ever did. He’s still my lover. Now, however, it feels like an affair. The familiar feel of my finger knotting in his waves is replaced with a bit of bristling against my hand. He too says he may miss the feel of me using his hair as a sort of lead, looping it up as we have sex or he buries his face between my thighs.

It feels odd. He’s the same person but somehow feels a stranger unfamiliar. I found myself startled a few times when I looked to him, for him. True, my lover is there, but something that I always identified with him is gone, and I feel my familiarity shaken surreal.