Long

I should never have cut my hair. It was immodest, though, and constantly flashing my soul out at people when I needed to remain dignified. Because in places it was curly and in others straight, in places blond and red and brown, scraggly and frizzy and thick, healthy and dull and static, it showed what I had myself: absolute rebellion. And it was long too, and it had been with me through some tough times.

I cut it to look like Frances. It doesn't really curl much and it all looks the same, as if to say I too am the same. I put purple in it mostly to remind myself I'm a little different, but it's a mask. I had to put it there, like people put makeup and fancy shoes on to remind themselves they're beautiful. My hair reminded me that in my nature I was beautiful, and not just because of what I put on. I suppose I am too vain. Beauty is not just something I want to have, it is something I want to be: a beautiful person, who barely touches a person's life yet makes them a little happier. My hair said that despite what people thought of me, I would try to be true to myself.