It's not the big things that make things better, you know. It's the tiny
things, the phrases that by rights should have taken an hour to sculpt, but from
context jump gleaming and whole from your head like foam-born Aphrodite into the
sad places inside me, bringing healing.
The morning I found the long sliver hairs hiding amongst the deep brown, and
was miserable. All the "It's ok, I love you just as you are"s made
But later, walking hand in hand down the street, you made everything right
again. I stopped to look in a hairdresser's window display and examined the
brilliant blues, and greens and pinks on display as hair colours.
"I prefer silver" was all you said.
And I went from wanting to weep with sadness to wanting to weep with
love and gladness.