I love the way he runs his fingers through my hair, and makes me feel beautiful even on my worst days. His touch is gentle yet firm, guiding through the tangles of my life with ease. He knows just how to smooth out the knots, bringing order to the chaos with a few deft strokes. There's a kindness in his caress, a silent reassurance that no matter how disheveled I feel, he's there to put me back together.

In his presence, I stand a little taller, my strands falling just right. He's the unsung hero of my morning routine, the architect of my confidence. With every touch, he leaves a trail of love behind, slowly sculpting me to beauty. Strand by strand, stroke by stroke.

I’d be lost without my hairbrush.