Small ounces of courage

She ran her fingers through her hair as she looked in the mirror.
Each stroke was overwhelming, in the absence of what was.
The length of her hair framed her face differently,
The light struck the streaks of blonde at a new angle,
Less hair weighed down her head,
It no longer swung back and forth down her back as she walked.

She tried to braid her hair for the first time.
Her fingers fumbled around as they produced a short style.
Puffs of blonde stuck out from the braid, uneven from the rest.
It’ll look better eventually.

She thought that in the absence, she’d lose who she was.
She’d lose all she had ever known.
The mornings where grandmother would comb out her hair before elementary school,
The nights mother would braid her hair into socks so she wouldn’t sleep with wet hair,
Strangers on elevators, subways, in restaurants, passing on compliments briefly,
Friends braiding her hair before the start of Spanish class.

But she knew.
In second grade when she made a promise,
That ends are not just meant for closure,
They are meant for new beginnings.

Though it was hard for her to separate the memories of the past,
With the physical representations of them,
She knew that new wasn’t meant to be scary,
It was meant to be welcomed.

And it’s hard,
But she’s trying.

She looked in the mirror and tucked the strands of loose hair behind her ear.
And echoes of the past were gone.
Because she smiled for the sake of today,
Not what was,
Or will be.

Small ounces of courage come from a few inches of cut hair.
And maybe then she will see herself clearer than a reflection ever could.