when you realize it's a pattern and not a phase, it's what you've become and what you will stay
I'm getting desperate enough for a I saw your haircut in a storefront: the choppy sides and perfect bangs. I loved the way it framed the model's cheekbones and the blank expression on her face. So I went inside and tried to buy it, but I got told, "it's not for sale". I got embarassed and decked the sales clerk. I stole the wig and ran like hell. I figured I would come and show you, so I kept running for your house. Then, I remembered I don't know your address, at least not the place you sleep at now. So I hurried home to get collected, to let the red flush from my face. I took out my notebook and I sketched you smiling; I like to look at you that way. Then, I put your haircut in my closet, next to the t-shirts and those cards you sent. I turned my lights out and I sunk in slowly, counting sheep and breathing hard again. When it comes, it's way too quickly, and it busts apart the faith I've grown. See, I can't stop myself from hurting you, so I guess I won't. that I'm considering not waiting anymore. What's the worst that could happen if I just scratch an itch and just get a little "trim" and then get a real haircut in Los Angeles? I think it's a solid idea. Yeah, I'm sold.