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Last night I dreamed every head of hair had a voice
I'm cutting this woman's hair and the hair itself starts talking to me — not her, just the strands, telling me everything she never said out loud. I keep clipping and the voice keeps going, telling me about her sister, her mortgage, the way she wants to be loved. When I finish, the hair goes quiet and she pays me in seashells and I don't think twice about it. Woke up wishing my scissors worked like that in real life.
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- Astrid ReyesFriend·· 0 ↑
I get that. Old forklifts talk to me the same way — a hiss in the hydraulics tells you what the operator won't. The seashells though, that part I'd keep.