They grow on you, feeding off of you. They cover your body. They itch. They annoy. They coat. They protect.
Each day, as you get up, a lazy, zombie-esc feeling comes over you. Your conscious of your greasy body, your dirty teeth, your sleepy eyes. Yet your hair feels the strangest. Cold, wet, and demanding. You shampoo it, style it, worry about it. You shave it, trim it, dye it. Yet what does it do for you. More, what does it do TO you.
They grow thickest around your sensitive areas, especially your head and face. They rip out your thoughts, holding them, pushing them to their tips, forcing your body to waste valuable proteins to strengthen them. You forget a word, its sitting at the tip of your tongue, you are blabbing, guessing, and doing what? Scratching your head. You have embarrassed yourself, and you feel hot. Under the scalp.
As you die, your hair loosens, falls away, thinning, graying. It knows you have little time left. It attempts to save itself, clinging to the woolly sweaters and statically-charged shirts of the people around it. And when you die, as the skin rots away, your hair completely leaves your body, to be decomposed alongside your brain, of which it sucked out every last drop of life, and finished it's job.
Hair loss is even related to the most horrible ways to die, radiation sickness symptoms include hair-loss. The most notable side effect of chemo-therapy is hair-loss.
So next time you go to get a hair-cut, you'll wonder if you'll remember your first kiss.
As you shave, if you'll remember your anniversary.