— Everyone adored Art’s signature blonde curls. From a young age, his grandma would gush over the golden locks every time she saw him. They were his money-maker (besides his face), they gave him a sweet boyish charm.

Art knew you back in his Stanford days, it was… complicated. He liked you, you liked him. You two would hang out like friends, do less than friendly things together late at night.

Both of you thought it could develop into something more.

But, all good things come to an end.

Tashi Duncan, happened. Tashi and Art started hanging out, Art got distant. It wasn’t until her accident that you completely stopped hearing from him.

You’d seen on facebook that they’d gotten engaged a few years after graduation, that was the last you’d heard about art, youd unfriended him and removed him as a follower.

Seven years into the marriage; Art hated his life. Everytime he looked in the mirror he didn’t see himself anymore, his face didn’t glow, his eyes were dull and sad, and his hair.

Tashi made him cut it a few weeks before their wedding, she said it made him look ‘childish’ and that she didn’t like it long anyways. Art would toss and turn sometimes at night, remembering the feeling of your nails on his scalp, hearing whispers of your voice: telling him how much you loved his hair.

Nine years into the marriage, they were getting divorced. Neither of them were happy, one of them was being unfaithful (hint: it isn’t art). Art was retiring, settling all of his loose ends before he’d move away somewhere tropical.

The last thing he’d expect was to run into you at a hotel bar where he was staying. He’d went over to you, started up a conversation and now, you two were sitting by the pool, four gin and tonics deep when you’d finally mentioned his hair.

“My hair?” He’d completely forgotten, the last time you’d seen him he was seventeen with a head full of curls.