I saw a girl in the library who was in my English class last semester. She had gotten a hair cut. Nothing dramatic, just tidying up the ends... but I was at once happy and sad at the encounter. Happy that people exist and have lives, sad that I'm not in them. Not that I was ever in her life to begin with; but, when she was in my class, she was mine. I covet these proofs of every day-ness, the same way that when I write about trees I really just want to be the tree. I know that if I ever became the girl in my English class from last semester then I would no longer have the luxury of beholding her from afar as part of a reassuring fabric of life. What I had wanted would be gone and on the tips of someone else's hair.
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