Hair

Her long blond hair tumbling down to her calves seemed to get always in her way. I'm sure that that she was a brunette died blond. When she sat down next to me at the restaurant, her hair almost swept the floor. It was strange how uncomfortable she seemed with her hair, so long and thick, that she had obviously always left it to grow. She would brush strands away, run her fingers through invisible knots and shake her head, as if she it was something foreign and alive that she had on top of her head like some fantastic hat. I then wondered whether it was a wig. No. It was her hair, or maybe it's just that she was possessed by her hair. It gave her an animal look and I couldn't help imagining her naked wrapped in her hair. I imagine that the man sitting with her thought the same.