A Strand of Your Hair

I found one of your hairs
on my blue-hooded sweatshirt
the other day.
I thought it was mine, at first,
until I reached down
to pluck it off.
One long pale red line of you,
it went on forever,
clinging to me until
the very last second,
the static between the two
practically unbreakable,
the bond holding them close,
as if by touch alone,
they would never lose each other.
At the end of its length,
your hair suddenly came free
from my blue-hooded sweatshirt,
and I hesitated a brief moment
before casting it into the wind.