Every now and then, in a crowd of faces, I see your hairline. It was an odd shape and sat uneasily with the rest of your face.
I saw it only when a devil took you and you ordered your thick wayward waves shaved off. I will not be what charms and pleases you, the compliant object of your gaze. Look, I am this ugly vulnerability. Take it or leave it.
Your hairline is imprinted on my forehead, like a third eyebrow. When I spot it, memory slugs me between the eyes. Of course, you may be bald by now.
¶ 5:36 pm