brush strokes.

in some ways, i want to be like my hair.

it is resilient: it was shaved off completely-twice-and still grew back. it was cut into but still grew back. thick. and even protected the wound it surrounded.

it is strong: some follicles were destroyed at their very root during treatment but rebuilt themselves and returned, anew.

it is rebellious: when it grew back it parted on the other side. it does what it wants every day and doesn't care how ridiculous it looks.

but there is another side (swept bang) to it:

many hairs fall out daily, but not in an organized clump. there is no obvious "proof" of my experience, treatment or loss. to the onlooker i am whole. to the onlooker there is an entire head of hair that has existed for 26 years without radical interruption.

no, they do not fall out at once. individual strands cling to my clothes and my pillow and my towels and everything they can cling to as if to mock my hope that this could soon be over. daily i am reminded that there are parts of me that are not strong enough to hold on. the strong. thick hairs cover these tiny empty spots so they go unnoticed. progress masks deficits. no one would know if i didn't tell them. but i know. i am the one who sees it. i am the one who lives it.

the truth is-no matter how sturdy the rest of them seem, there are always some that fall.