To the boy with beautiful hair
It blows in the breeze and gets messed up. You quickly fix it. I like it like that. Your hair looks soft and dark. I want to put my hands gently thorough it. I don't do it, I don't think I ever will. I just watch from the corner of my eye as you run your fingers through each short strand.
From the girl who loves that hair of yours
YOU ARE READING
With love
Historia CortaShe loved him, he didn't know -slightly longer synopsis inside -cover photo does not belong to me -short story/poetry
