break-up letter

Before you read any further, please know that, honestly, it’s not you. It’s me.

It’s just that we always seem to be on different schedules lately. I never have a chance to see you. Someone or something else always comes first. Why only on Thursdays? And why should I have to schedule our time together so far in advance? Remember those days when I could just call you up with a few minutes warning and you would be so happy to see me, 3:00 PM in the afternoon? Do you remember those days the same way that I do?

I know my eyebrows are too long, too bushy. Is that the problem? But I like them this way. I don’t know why you want to trim them; but that’s just who you are, and this is just who I am. I know the fuzz on my ears should get some attention, and I don’t mind that you point this out. But I think the eyebrows should be left alone.

I could pluck a few? Just when they really get noticeable?

But, then, we never really have anything to talk about anymore, do we? How is your day: fine. How is yours: pretty good. And then the mundanities of the holiday season or families or trips. It’s always different, but really it’s always the same. Who are we fooling? Where is this really going?

But, oh, the way you can dig your fingers into my scalp when you wash my hair. Just give me a moment to recall.

But even that, that way you worked the soap with the minty smell along the creases of my scalp, as though you knew — you knew! — just what I needed and everything felt better after that. That was the best part of my day, you know? And it’s still great, really. But it isn’t the same. But it’s not you; it’s me. I know this. I’m a different person now.

And let’s be honest. Soon, my hair will fall out. I can tell. You say it isn’t happening and that I’ll always need you, but I know. Each time I can tell that as there’s more in my eyebrows and upon the lobes of my ears, there’s less on my forehead. Or my forehead is growing in height. And we both know, that in either case, it won’t be long now. Soon, the rendezvous for 3:00 PM on a Thursday afternoon that were scheduled only a few weeks apart, cemented with the promise of that mint shampoo and the massage, extended to 5 weeks and then to 6 and then to 7 and so-who-would-really-care-if-I-went 8 weeks?

8 weeks.

In between haircuts.

But that will be easier to schedule. Won’t it?

And maybe I just wasn’t paying attention to the way you lift my head as you get that spot, with my favorite mint shampoo, just where the back of my skull meets my neck, and everything is a little better, every 7 — or 8 — weeks. On Thursday. At 3:00 PM. Or whenever your schedule allows.

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