Dear Pre-Pandemic Me, You are going to cut your hair…

Dear.
Pre-pandemic me.

You are going to cut your hair.
Because you will grow restless.
You cannot go out and no-one comes in. even though you won’t be seen there is a mirror in the bathroom.
You still have to look. mould exists in your thoughts. it grows from the inside and you feel it protruding from your skull. 
Like soft-capped mushrooms that enjoy the damp. they’re brown like your hair.
So go stand in front of the sink. it’s one a.m. but the bathroom light shines fluorescent and your skin looks grey. you’ll blend into the walls. 
Cutting your hair will tidy you up. maybe. and then he will kiss you in the new year because your hair is neat.
There’s a lump in your throat but you won’t be sure why. try to blame the cold.
Parts of you are scattered everywhere. your scissors are blunt. try to buy new ones.
But for some split seconds you feel something else blossoming out of your head.
Something a bit kinder. something that smells sweeter. this time you’re going to want to be good.
But it’s January again. my fringe is uneven.
You are going to cut your hair.