perhaps it was the way you tied up your brown, wavy hair all the way back. nothing exquisite; just a piece of rubber band or a humble hair clip. the nape of your neck peers from between the collar of your white blouse and your wildly beautiful hair.
i have worshiped those strands of hair that evade your tiny hands, those that gracefully fall on the side of your face unnoticed. somehow your eyes grow wider with those silent strands framing your face.
and when they finally dance around too much, too much that you finally notice their play, a discreet pair of fingers gathers them and tuck them behind your pink ears...
but where do they really belong? where do those precious brown, unruly strands really find home? free, wild and careless, carried by the wind wherever it pleases? or bundled up in neat braids behind your head?
i have always thought that somehow, sometime when we grow older, i will wake up everyday smelling the scent of your hair.
until i saw you holding her hand; hers gently caressing your hair, lips whispering something that can only be "You're mine."