Mess

You tried so hard to tame them, to keep them in check.

Every so often you would run your fingers in your unruly but gorgeous mess. You kept them as if you were bound to.

But Oh gods! When you had them down it was utter beauty.

Your long straight black hairs, dangling upto your tailbone, flaring with sunshine along the wind. Wind was your song and skimming walk your rhythm, rhythm on which your hairs dangled like they are meant to be.