3d • 🧱 Fragments
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The barber turned the chair.
Slow.
Careful with the angle.
Hair fell in quiet pieces.
Dark against the white cape.
Gone the moment it landed.
He brushed the back of my neck.
Soft strokes.
Like finishing a sentence.
The mirror held me steady.
Same face.
Less of it.
Change doesn’t ask.
It just keeps taking
what you’ve already outgrown.
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