Kin dysphoria is hitting again, and of all things it’s not because I don’t look like my kins-
Ironically enough, it’s because I look too much like someone who I do not kin. I look at myself in the mirror and I freak out because I see his hair, his tired eyes the colour of the sea after a storm, and I recognize them as his and not mine.
It’s gotten to the point that I’m fairly reluctant to dye my hair with bleach (despite it being required for the cherry-red colour I want) simply because it reminds me of one of the worst times of his life. I can’t in good conscience do that when I still remember him running into my studio, stifling tears as he tried his best to forget what had happened to him.
He, objectively, was beautiful. His beauty was a thing of envy, in both life and death. I should be happy. But I’m not. It just feels… weird. Like I’ve somehow stolen his appearance from him.
I don’t want to change it, though. I like the way this haircut flatters my face, my hair has enough curl and body that it flows well with minimal effort, and it’s a pretty colour to boot.
It just feels weird sometimes, is all.
- Painter (A Hat in Time)