‘You’re terrible at this,’ you groan as I tie the end of your braided hair. I huff and roll my eyes. A ‘thank you’ would have been more welcome.
I watch as you gently caress the knots, humming in deep thought.
‘Maybe I should cut my hair after all,’ you say.
‘Whatever you want.’
‘And what do you want?’
I look away. The light from the window bathes us in an orange glow. I laugh to myself thinking: What kind of question is that? I would always want you either way.