my eyes always fall on men with long hair.

 his hair hung in his eyes a little, and yes, maybe he resembled a girl, but from then on, something about long locks caught my eye. I was still at the age where you didn’t necessarily want sex, you just wanted to crush your face against their cute face and feel the zing of a “hello,” as it passed by your locker.

long hair meant play time.
it meant longing.
 lingering.
 romance.
but it also told me that the object of my affections was a rebel
ready to spin me around the wrong way on the tire swing and let me spiral around, my shoes flying off in opposite directions.