i) Six year old hair after coming out of the shower—back when Daddy used that dark blue soft bristle brush every 15 minutes to make sure it dried before bed. Back when split ends didn’t go quite long enough and the friction of bristle and flesh left scars. Watch the drops of water transform into pools for fairies on your hardwood floor. Go back to that place now and whisper with the childhood innocence that shorter hair always made for the best hair days. The back of your neck may have been red but it sure is hard to brush long hair on your own. When you are by yourself, it always becomes just a little tangled.
ii) Ten year old feet in ballet class never nestled in comfortable shoes because the shade of pink required just wasn’t made in the right size. Your muscles always cramping, toes always twisting, the doctor always sitting you down and asking who bent the strongest bones in your body so out of shape. No one, they just got a little tangled.
iii) Sixteen year old eyelashes at seven o’clock in the morning, the top and bottom braided together and bobby pinned on top. Remember how your six year old self always yelled that her eyes wouldn’t open. “Wake up, get up.” They yelled and yelled but next time just tell them you will open your eyes and brush your hair and stand up. . .
when everything is a little less tangled.
See also: knot, nailbed, neuron