by: harman naree

When i was young, my mother would comb my hair i'd sit on the toilet facing the wall, my scalp felt her moods. Afterthoughts of wisdom would come to me then from her mouth. Parenting was accidental, there was simply no time for it amongst graveyards. ‘be good child, do good onto others’, ‘work hard for all that you may receive in life’, ‘nothing is free’, ‘share all that you work for and it will double’.These things my mother said to me were braided into my hair. My mother was free-handed with the oil, she thought there was great beauty in the sheen; my classmates told me otherwise. I hated the part in my hair, right in the centre, I felt it highlighted my asymmetries, my imperfections. It's funny because the same part drew me to you, more magnetic than your soft brown eyes -- which i’d thought to be impossible. I sit across the table from you, on the sheet amongst grass under the sun, your hair possessed by the wind sticks to your lipgloss and you reflexively pull it away to continue your monologue passionately, in the car we crane our necks to peak at each other, ‘keep your eyes on the road’, in bed we don't look at each other, interlocked, our presence confirms itself without a glimpse or a sound just the rise and fall of our chests. I sit across the table from you, and try to keep a straight face, blood rushes to my cheeks thinking about freeing your braid. I've lost myself in the glory of your hair more times than I can count now. Running my fingers through its length, I've learnt you, knots and tangles. Mornings turned to afternoons and afternoons to evenings as we lay in pools of our hair, hours of spilling ourselves unto each other, laying still so as not to remind each other of the things that felt far away from here. Watching you leave; your braid swings across your back as you walk away from me. Your hair has a way of hugging your body, I've learnt from it, it falls down your back so perfectly I could mistake it for your spine. It moves with you seamlessly, a perfect extension of you -- that makes me jealous. I wish to move in unison with you, like your braid. One day you asked me to braid your hair for you, and although it was selfish, I snuck myself into your hair.

by: anoop kaur

this lulled reality holds a rarity,

the grey matter of every single destiny

it holds the you and i's

and their respective 0 and 1s

so

actors in an empty theatre

performing for an uninterested Spectator

rowing across an entire ocean

trying to get to a nonexistent destination

it does not matter

the sea is sensational

and the journey life changing

the Crowd is complex

and incredibly entertaining