My hair ....
My dark brown hair falls to my shoulders smoothly, is light reddish glare with the sun, and is not by chance. A lower my eyes gently covers my face, wind can only remove it from my face to let me look down without falling.
Slowly my hair wants to be cherished, because it is soft and fragrant, waiting for your hands and fingers tangling up to my scalp. Could it be that my hair can hide my intentions? But you can save my face and keep in the dark, all I want to stay in the shade.
picks it up, tie and a cool breeze up to my neck, falls neatly from an elegant bun improvised a hook or forceps, but inevitably a few strands falling on my face .. have not yet grown enough. My hair is a bit battered, among many changing temperatures, my hair is bright in the sun as the breeze coquettishly spin it and play.
A scissor with bad intentions, he approaches with his teeth of steel and a metallic sheen. Quietly executes its action and slowly falling pieces of what once was a bright red hair still falling while easily disordered, bare my neck has been forever. Now look in the mirror a bald girl, and two black eyes blue tears running down their cheeks, the distance is heard the voice of a woman who is going away:
- girl Do not cry, and grow!
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