Edits
HENRY VLIETSTRA
As soon as I sink into the seat, I know I want to stay. I sit, smiling in silence, satisfied since there’s nothing I must say. I wistfully watch as the scissors whittle away at my wayward waves. My grinning profile is retraced. There may be something spiritual in watching months of progress erased. The hairdresser’s hands work wonders. I’m ecstatic for the change. She buzzes and snips. I imagine my hair neat and sharp where it once was mangy and messy. The thrill of a new look delights me while this person I don’t know decides my style. I know I’ve found perfection. As I leave, I recall my arrival. How bleak things were back then. Then my eye catches my own reflection, and I say never, ever again.
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