I sometimes look for you in my spam box. It's just one excuse, another excuse, another believing that it's fate or destiny or something else that it's keeping us apart. You weren't there. But there was another cute boy telling me to loose up my hair 'cos that's how he likes it, that's how he remembers me. I always keep my hair up tight. I remember him saying, as he was leaving, you should wear your hair loose, always, it really looks good on you! I think I blushed - I didn't expect it, we hadn't talked for more than 15 minutes the day before, when I had, as usual, my hair on a bunny. But he didn't touch it, my dear, he didn't put his hand on it and said your hair is so soft looking me in the eyes and I didn't reply it's Gerês still on it. That was you. And it was your voice I wanted to hear on my my spam box and if it was your voice talking about my hair, I would loose it up right now, I would shake it like the girls on the comercials, and I would smile and lie again, it's the forest, or the seaweed or the water springs that live in my hair.
And because it's was not you, I don't know what answer, I don't even know if I should or do like you, take the compliment and continue with my life. So I'll just keep it as it is, as always, discret, up tight, saving me for boy troubles. And wear it loose only in my drawings or the next time your soft hands are around.
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