Descriptions

I care too much about a boy with curly hair. He wants to let it grow out, long enough to make a ponytail. In the time i've known him it has grown and grown, like weeds in a field, untended, spiraling upwards and outwards in every direction. When I met him he had his curls straightened, forced down by the heat of a flat iron - the pressure of his insecurities - and the thought that it looked better that way. It looked beautiful, his perfectly emo boy, 2007 band member locks drew me to him the first time we met and I thought that he was beautiful, beautiful yet broken. He hid as much of himself with that flat iron as he did his curls, tailoring his personality to be how he thought he should be, to be liked. Not long after that first meeting, the first kiss, he started to show his curly hair. In a way, it is very much like him showing his true self to me, unbridled by the insecurities he harbored at our first meeting. When his whole frame shakes with laughter, his wild hair bounces happily with him, an extension of his joy. His curls are soft and springy; I remember too strongly the feeling of my hands in them. My fingers thread and curl in his hair and it seems to coil back around my hands. It pulls me into him and asks me not to leave, and i respond with a caress or tug, as if to say I never planned on leaving. I am in love with a boy who has curly hair. I can only hope that he is as tangled into me as I to him.