It wasn’t the hair I was worried about – This is obvious to the onlookers as I allowed a seven year old to cut it – it was the beard I had concerns over. It survived the seven year old shearing.
Had I done it I would look a little different on top but he insisted and I like to encourage – so I am closely cut and all the scars on my head from years of flying through windshields, hitting pavement (M/Cycle) and one golf club to the top, are now showing.
I am not loved for the scars but because I managed to grow despite them.
Cold all night due to blanket in wash. White summer blanket used when I was younger now barely covering my shoulders to shoes, pulled taut between and wrestled within for some semblance of insulation. I did not wish to awaken my lover so I didn’t get close enough to prod the embers of my outer layer.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 