I'm standing there, watching. I blink back.
The streaks of grey keep on sneaking. When did they first arrive?
I've already forgotten.
One hair
Two hairs..... Three hairs, more hairs.
Each one comes with a woe, how many things do we wish we could leave behind?
I close my eyes. Do I remember what I want any more?
Do they remember?
It's best if you don't look, what you can't see can't hurt you.
Or so I'm lead to believe.
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