While he sawed through my personal heavy hair, we invited queerness in to the bathroom—and into all of our partnership

While he sawed through my personal heavy hair, we invited queerness in to the bathroom—and into all of our partnership

In January, in the next week-end of this eleventh thirty days of this endless pandemic, I noticed flattened by numerous weights: COVID-19, Zoom calls, the routine of cold weather operating, depression. I was desperate for a change—anything that will jolt me out of my sleepy county and into a prickly awareness. As my personal date, Cole, and that I squeezed into my top-floor house restroom, we stared into my personal smaller, jagged echo, examining many years of wavy increases to my head—bleached by sunrays, separate by temperature and dryness and curled by months of relentless humidity. We parted my lengthy, honeyed hair and pinched my tresses into four ponytails. I exhaled profoundly: “Okay, I’m prepared.”

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