Hair fall

I woke up today after a year and so, in so and so. My hair, permeating saccharine tones that mirrors pollen, rippling through the air. I gazed at the luscious and vibrant colour that appears to wander limitless. Amazed at the length. I woke up today after a day and so, in so and so. My hair, glossy to the eyes, with a texture resembling that of a blooming peach. I marvelled at the sensations that seemed to feather over every nerve. Amazed at the depth. Today I bathe in the warmth that appears every other day, or so and so. The water warm, the soap fragrant and the steam cleansing. The jets of the shower caress my body at a balanced pressure, empty of any raze. My hair, indulging in the hydration, jubilant to the temperature. Amazed at the mellowness. After some time, after the feeling of purity and so and so. I exit this dimension and remove the hair from the drain. It is not much hair, nothing that I cannot spare. With the aid of a thick and gentle towel, I am embraced. Alongside the cushioned touches of fabric, my hair is almost dry. Amazed at its beauty. I woke up today after so and so sleep, in so and so. My hair, bright and familiar, with reflections of a fragrant surreality. I admired its natural yet implied smell that travelled through the vine of a citrusy tea tree. Amazed at the breadth. I woke up today after a so and so night, in so and so. My hair, spacey and comfortable, with a gentle sound on the soul. I listened to its beautiful cries, humming from a distance resembling that of a soothing and mythical creature. Amazed at the strength. Today I approach the mythical creature in the water just like any other day, or so and so. The water tender, the soap replenishing and the steam exfoliating. The jets of the shower carry me in a gentle swing past time, empty of any malady. My hair, grasping every bit of nutrition, desperate to the care. Amazed at the passion. After some time, after the fleeting feeling of low gravity and so and so. I exit this pool of me and remove the hair from the drain. It is a bit more hair, but I will always grow more hair to spare. With the aid of a thick and dark towel, I am vehemently braced. Alongside the foamed touches of memory, my hair is almost dry. Amazed at its vitality. I woke up today after a long and challenging week. My hair is tall and living, with a stillness resembling that of a stripped bark of a tree stump. I observed its earthy tones, wallowing in its loss of flexibility, resembling a lazy muscle. Satisfied with its presence. I woke up today after an elegiacal and torturous month. My hair still tall, barely living, unfamiliar and thin. I nostalgically stared at what I once had, reminiscent of the colourful days. Sorrowful with reality. Tomorrow I will wake up with layers upon layers of hair. My hair may be dull, thin, knotted, and I may not be able to handle its needs at the moment. I may cut it short. I may not know how things will change. I may not recognise the hair I once had. I may feel stuck in so and so. However, I will grow it again. It might not have the same texture, smell or style. Nevertheless, it will be my hair. Therefore, I am hopeful, not for the recognition. I am hopeful for my growth.