“It was when I came across an old photo of him,” Jörn tells me, “without the mustache as when he was at university ….I got chills….you are the spit of him.”
“So?”
“The signature hair cut,” he says looking at me, “whose idea?”
I smile up at him and shrug,
“so what of it?”
Because I know what he is saying,
“she used to tweeze my eye brows. Remove the arch….yes….but could you blame her?”
“Identity,” Jörn says like a headmaster reminder for a quiz
I shut him out. I squeeze my eyes tight. I cover my ears and my eyes….let the weight of my hair tumble forward ….
“I learned how to hide in plain sight….” I say
But add,
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. She did what she had to do…. I don’t exist. I don’t matter ….”
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