Haircut

Yet another poem inspired by 500 Days of Summer. 

 

Did a cocktail of passion and lust overtake your senses –

or was your loneliness compelling?

Because when you opened your eyes in the morning,

as you scrutinize my features

and I, drifted in my dreams

your love dissipated.

 

There is no logic in emotions,

nor is there rationality in my fear of sleeping.

What I needed was your reassurance

That feelings were not like bubbles –

Iridescent, impeccable but disappears out of the blue

As if reliance was foolish and my reciprocity worthless

As if our ties were imaginary, dangled by my idiocy and torn apart by epiphanies at

7 o’clock in a cold winter morning.

 

You were correct –

No mortal could stick to an eternal promise of faith or love

But what hurts the most wasn’t your words of departure

It was your sincerity and devotion that linger at the back of my mind.

How could you look into the eyes of another

And convince her with the same conviction, the same diction, the same tone

Without remembering how touched I was.

 

I loved my tangled hair

how you would run your fingers through them –

now I also love how I can feel nothing

as the strands fall to the ground

when my scissors slice through each cocoa lock

with the precision and certainty

as you spat the words in that frigid morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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