January 15th

It began with my hair.
It's always my hair that attracts them.
He couldn't look away, ensnared by my coils. I know he'll call. I know I'll go.

Why did my sister lead me to him? What does she see in him? I can not fathom. I suppose immortality affords her another perspective. How can she bear that laser focus, his fixated gaze, his eye? He stared so intently at my locks, at one point, I almost glared him into stone. I stopped myself, for I saw he is already still and steady as bedrock-grounded, dense, elemental. He invites me as stone to lean on him, to climb, to perch, to lie down.

He will be my friend.
He will call.
I will go.