hair was lustrous and shimmery last night. The way it caught the light, reflecting off watch of some creepy 50 year old dude feeling up a teenager was magical. As it bounced and swayed in the ebb and flow of the blues, I couldn't help but think, if only I were lucky enough to have hair like Dave, maybe people would love me too. One day, I may be able to do just that.
But now is not a time for rejoicing, but for reflection. As the world of the dessert swallows up our blues laden ideal, the city of San Francisco weeps quietly for a lost 10 days. Without him, we are but an incomplete whole. A whole with a hole, if you will. A period of mourning feels more necessary than anything else. Hopefully, we can survive until such a time as our lives feel ready to move on with him back in them again.
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