Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row
I’ve always picked things based on their names. How the curve of each letter sounds in my mouth, the after taste of it as it hangs in the air before my lips. I’m guilty of this right now, you see the tea I just ordered was solely picked because of it’s whimsical flight. BlueCrane, now that is a tea begging to be drunk.
I recently chopped some of my locks off at a place by the name of Parlor&Juke, a cubby, a treasure trunk, or a black hole. I’ll let you imagine it as you like. Its that time of year when the hair becomes a messy up-do and I start running from mirrors. This hair cut ordeal happens only when I’m at my wit’s end. And believe…
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