Running my hand through her soft hair was

What I did when I spent hours with her.

The dark hair fell in waves

Till her waist

Reminding me of the sea that

I always feared

How come I missed the clue?

That she could be fearsome and beautiful

All at once.

A perfect bun is what I tried, she would some days explain

But this is what came out of my entire try

She says, pointing at the messy bun.

Now I recognize with a chill

Like the hair that never stood at place

She had a soul chasing dreams

That can’t help but break

What stops her own race.

Her hair was black at the roots

Light brown at the ends

And a beautiful golden under the Rising Sun.

The black blending to brown.

Brown blending to golden.

Simply like her I must admit

Lines blurred and erased

Smudged and redrawn

A girl who lived life

On her own terms.

What I didn’t notice then

Is what I miss now.

Given that she’s all gone

Running my hand through her soft hair was

What I did when I spent hours with her…

Yet it’s humiliating to admit

How little I knew

How she was…

Or rather who she was.