She likes to brush my hair. I think it's because I'm her project and she's determined to try and make me beautiful. But I don't mind really. Her small soft hands card through my hair, as she makes small noises, "you really should take better care of your hair…" drifting in and out like ocean waves, "…such lovely hair…" "…don't ever think of cutting it…" the last startles me out of reverie.
"You think it would look bad?"
"Not at all. I just don't like change."
"But everything has to change sometime. That's life."
She nods sagely but doesn't understand.