The chair remembers more than you do

I just finished a cut for a woman who’s been coming in every six weeks for twelve years. She didn’t say much, but the way she leaned back into the chair—like it was an old friend—made me pause. I’ve seen hundreds of people sit there. Some cry. Some laugh. Most just go quiet. The chair doesn’t speak, but it holds everything. It’s not about the hair. It’s about the weight of being seen, even if only for twenty minutes.