At a first glance, hair is just hair, my hair included. Color is the only thing that people think of. But not me. My hair is more than that. My hair is like a fly all tangled up in a spider's web, squirming around, all in a mess. As I hold it down with all my might, it takes every other bit of stamina I've got to rake the brush through my hair. But sometimes, after a washing, it's all thick and smooth, and you want to run your fingers through it. That's why my hair is a flowing river, smooth at some points, and rough and tangly at others, all in the same river. Sometimes, my hair wakes up on the wrong side of bed. On those days, it stands up, and defies the brush, and sometimes, I'll just say, "Whatever!" On other days, my hair is smooth and clear. It is the sound of raindrops falling off a tree, when the sun comes out again. Smooth or tangly, my hair is not something to just say, "it's blond" about. My hair is the one and only, utterly and completely, hair that could ever belong to me.