Sitting in a salon waiting for the red to sink into my hair

She sits and stares into her hands, focusing more on the blood rushing out of her leg causing it to tingle than her fastpaced, colorful surroundings. In these moments of fast forward, she always moved slower- the energy of the room draining her... Like her leg. She has been sitting for the past forty-five minutes but the movement around her deflates any artificial energy that she had sucked out of a mug earlier that day.

Watching her hair dye change from pink to maroon was her favorite part of the trip to salon. It always confused her why the dye never looked like the red it was to become. This world of beauty and preparation left her in a state of child-like wonder.

1,1 (copying Rilke)

I grip this corner with my pinchers
There is nothing else to hold
Release little paper climber!
Fall from the high rise into nothing,
Which is really something, just other.

The train rolls ahead, as I lean into the direction of the old. Being pulled back to the new.
Excitement awaits, just with less history.
I reach my arms inside and to the tertium quid.

The unknown is my deep well that I reach into.