Our love is like my hair, always on my mind.
It complements me and shines with my eyes.
It is never one color, sometimes dark, sometimes bright.
It really depends on if you see it in light.
I can put it up, ignore it, and leave it to dry,
not caring what it looks like, not knowing why.
Or I can wear it down like it is part of me.
Embracing the feeling of an identity.
Our love is like my hair, always growing up top.
But when the ends split,
I need to cut them off.