“I keep wanting to dye my hair something different, something new, something I haven’t tried before, but after a few weeks of unfamiliar locks, I always manage to go back to purple. Going purple feels like a return to home, to my roots, to my core, but sometimes, it’s more like a reversion, like cutting back trees or clipping wings: it’s hard to tell which. What I mean is that it is Spring and I feel my roots finding water, stretching oh so deliciously, leaves unfurling to sunny days, my gaze turning up and in as I see my glow. It’s starting to grow stronger, warmer, and I’m dancing and laughing more; and my hair is sort of blonde, waiting to lighten enough to add a splash of something new, maybe blue. But in the back of my mind, I whisper ‘stick to what you know,’ which is to say that change, no matter how much I want it, is something I fear so much, I remain stained purple. No matter how much it fades: it lightens, it stays, which is my way of saying that stains are my brain’s name for what feels like trying too hard and not trying enough, which is my way of saying that no matter how much dye I bleed, how much light I see, how much hope I seed, it still somehow seems to always come out PURPLE. Depression isn’t something I can bleach out of my life, I can’t leech enough light to make my own every day, and even when I can, most days, there’s a haze and it’s purple.”
jacobvanloon
prguitarman
gummygunk
areudirty
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton