Nobody asks me why I don’t wear wigs anymore,
they just assume it has to do with you.
A way of mourning, the lover I never had,
It’s a ritual, everything I do now.
I listen to our song too, with Adam’s voice filling
the silence, and my eyes.
I remember when you first sang it to me,
your horrible baritone being the only
interesting thing. I hated the song.
I fight sometimes, to keep all our memories,
but these days they feel like
a fragment of my imagination. Like you
weren’t real, Kaodini.
They do ask me if I really loved you.
I just smile, a distant one, and think about
the first time you cut my hair, when alopecia
first showed up. You held tufts of my hair,
lovingly, and mocked me at the same time, saying
I’d grow bald sooner than papa.
And then you held me.