When he played with my hair, I forgot why I was upset.
The tyrannies that had invaded my mind,
the stress, anxiety, and uncertainty that had coiled within my body,
released.
When he played with my hair, I found I could breathe.
My lungs filled with ease,
gentle currents flowing down my throat,
encircling my heart,
finding rest within my belly.
When he played with my hair, I felt it all the way to the tips of my toes.
The tingles of a gentle touch rooted in safety,
the frequency of a love returned in full,
of a place where I could stay.
When he played with my hair, I fell through time.
I remembered when I was smaller,
and my hair and days were longer.
I remembered the hands of girls and women,
brushing,
braiding,
humming,
teaching.
Being.
I remembered quiet moments,
little pockets of time,
where my nervous system relaxed,
where I was content to stay where I was,
for however long their hands would last.
When he played with my hair, I remembered.
I remembered what it was like to feel held,
to feel safe,
to know how it felt to wish to stay forever in one place,
where the world didn’t exist outside of this space.
I remembered how it felt to let everything go,
to be nothing but being,
to think nothing but feeling.
To give in to quiet,
to surrender to light,
to float in a space where it all is alright.
I feel safest in his hands,
as his fingers trace the veil that was gifted when this body came to be.
I listen to the gentle whisper of the strands as they fall,
as he tells me of what he can see in their hold.
He tells me of sunlight, and the deep, deep earth,
and the colours he imagines I carried from birth.
Second hand, like a faded photograph,
he witnesses the little girl,
who loved the sun and water,
and the wind within her curls.
When he played with my hair, I found peace.
Amid chaos and worry,
and all the evils that whisper,
I silenced them,
banished them,
and just let myself breathe.
When he played with my hair, I felt lighter than I had in years.
I witnessed a lifetime of carefully hidden memories,
played through the lens of a sunlit mirror,
a portal to worlds I’d long forgotten.
In the loving caress of his fingers,
I remembered the stars in my bones.
When he played with my hair,
I knew I was in good hands.
A warrior’s hands, hidden by gentleness.
A lover’s hands, given fully to their task.
When he played with my hair, I knew:
This is what it is to be safe and loved.
And a thousand little girls in me sighed.
Love you.
