Elyse Ricketts

...and i keep returning to it,

My hairbrush becomes something I cannot quite separate from myself. It is a site of repetition, intimacy, and reflection. In my daily rituals—touching, smoothing, gathering—I notice how care and control are folded into something so automatic I almost miss it. Strands of my hair become caught and entangled, like evidence I did not mean to leave behind but always do. They sit there as both presence and absence; a part of me that lingers after I have already moved on.This mundane object begins to feel familiar in an almost uncomfortable way—holding what my body leaves behind, and what I keep returning to without fully understanding why.