Confession of a Bald man

Visiting a barber has always been a forceful activity for me. For the past 8 years I hardly have any hair left. My hair grows in patches and is scattered like wild grass.
There are picnic spots at prominent places. My head in a shape of a buttock comes out and looks abstract. My barber looks at me and goes for a zero machine man that hurts. He always suggests me to shave it off. My hair is what I am. I am unruly, wild unkept person. My hair has always been a big supporter of my nature. During my work and important meetings my hair has always stayed tight. For my creative work it’s always stood up for it. My mother a big supporter of positions has always wanted my hair to be positioned in a way. Hair is supposed to be social and not personal. After a certain point of socializing my hair accepts people and moulds its style. Mostly by looking at the hair one can judge the moods of a person. Let me confess my hair is moody. During my drumming sessions my hair really grooves and parts away. My morning sessions with my hair are like watering my garden. A splash of water and light brush it gets going. My garden is very small and has many pathways including bumps. My hair are few and I respect them and they respect me. After the barber shaves my hair I feel I have lost a lot like losing my identity. My hair all fallen to the floor looks at me and reminds me of the times we had together. Anyways there is always time for the new. As I grow older my expectation of hair reduces. I have come to an understanding my years of friendship with Mr. Hair is coming to a end.
Good bye Mr. Hair
My Best Friend For years!