Curls the beginning of the end of a magnificent thing. Curls like music streaming through the air. Maybe the reason the words just flow endlessly from the tip of your pen hitting a blank piece of paper or the fingertips of glossy red painted nails tapping the screen of a pad. Something to admire to look forward to a surprise, a secret to wait something to create for others to explore. One to herself not to much expression adding to a mystery that must be found out by the people around. Maybe it's the thoughts of how others see you or the way in which you can see the world differently. Something only you can tell. A pen a piece of paper and so long brown curls to decide. The music to life. The start of something new.
