BY SARAH GOLDSCHMIDT-HOPKINSON
You look different. This time your hair is [red / pink / blonde] and I love it. You are [as beautiful as the last time I saw you / as beautiful as the last time I saw you / as beautiful as the last time I saw you]. You sit me down and the sunlight streaming [into my eyes / onto the grass / onto your skin] is [blinding / warm / fading]. I think you are [golden in the sun / happier than I’ve ever seen you / very kind to me]. You stand above me and [ask what I want / cradle my head in your hands / grab the scissors] and I say [whatever you think looks good / the same as last time / nothing]. I can feel the warmth of your hand on my shoulder through my t-shirt and when you [make the first cut / lift my head / run your hands through my hair] I shiver. You smile and keep going. I look away.
When you finish you pull me over to the window and stand behind me. In the reflection I look at your face as you tell me to check if it’s even and [it’s not / it’s not / it’s not]. I tell you it’s perfect and that I [owe you one / look like myself again / don’t know what I’ll do without you]. The sun sets and the cicadas in the backwoods [hum / sing / trill]. They thrive on the same heat that reddens your cheeks. The black sky is glittering with fireflies and I say god it’s humid out here. You say it’s getting late. When I drive you home and you [tell me what time to pick you up / sing off-key / say you’ll miss me] I still don’t tell you. I say I’ll see you [tomorrow / over break / around]. You smile at me through the car window. I watch you walk into the dark and I can’t shake the feeling that we are [out of time / out of time / out of time].
Writer | Sarah Goldschmidt-Hopkinson ‘28 | sgoldschmidthopkin28@amherst.edu
Editor | Venumi Gamage ‘26 | vthotagodagamage26@amherst.edu