I miss my long hair,

how it was red and purple and pink all at once.

 

I don’t even like those colors, really.

I’ve always liked cooler tones, especially green and blue,

but I guess I just miss the spontaneity of dying my hair a color

I hate and watching it fade away with the summer.

 

Now it’s short,

because I’m incapable of keeping my hair past my shoulders,

and I’m reminded of all the other things I can’t do.

 

Like run around the block just because I want to,

or pass a math quiz,

or keep my room clean,

or let time heal all wounds—

like the scars around my thumbnails

or the gash in my heart from too many

faded summers ago.

 

I miss my long hair,

and I resent the not quite blonde,

not quite brown color that it is now.

 

I resent the roads, too,

the ones I used to not know the names of.

 

I didn’t get my license until I was seventeen,

partly because I didn’t know the names of the roads,

but mostly because I liked being the passenger.

 

It was nice being able to look away.

To let my eyes drift.

 

But I’m not the passenger anymore,

and now I know all the road names,

and I can’t look away.

 

Not from the hill,

not from the stop sign,

not from the light that I never turn right at,

not from the turning lane that always leads me home.

 

I miss that home, and I miss my long hair,

and I resent the roads and all those moments

where time slowed down and sped up all at once.

 

I think I faded as my hair did,

as summer did, as all those moments did.

 

I think I faded just as that home did out of

my rearview mirror that one stupid day

where my entire world crashed and burned

right in front of me.

 

Maybe it’s not even my long hair that I miss,

but the person I was when I had it.

 

The home knew long-hair me,

and so did the roads,

but I didn’t.

 

And I don’t.

 

I don’t remember who that was—

she’s so far away.

 

But I know I resent her,

just as much as I resent the roads.

 

For she caused all the chaos,

all the destruction,

and she didn’t even have the

strength to watch it all burn.

 

All she did was drive away

and leave broken glass

and scattered debris in her wake.