On Withering

As I watch my hair fall to the ground
Small strands with scissors cut—
I begin to wonder if
This is how your hopes fell
Silently.
On the ground.
On your jeans.
On your shoes.
On the nape of your neck.
Too many to count.
And even more to fix.
Fallen everywhere
And then simply swept,
Without even a whisper.

Goodbye, you nothings—
Once everything.