Mum braided my hair once in Paris -
in the way that it formed a clean halo of hair around my head and I smiled to the mirror while she was trying to figure out how to do it.
After she was finished she looked me for a moment, smiled and said:
"It's nice to see your face again."
I was puzzled, I never have my bangs on my eyes - it's always up or somehow in my bun.
How is it possible that she hasn't seen my face?
The answer hit me yesterday.
In Paris I was truly happy, happier than I had been in months and maybe I glowed in the way that the black veil of sadness had been removed
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