I used to hate my hair. Now I love it. I spend hours brushing my hair out after it dries. I love it when it's big.
Some days my thoughts are just cocoons -- all cold, and dull, and blind, They hang from dripping branches in the grey woods of my mind; And other days they drift and shine -- such free and flying things! I find the gold-dust in my hair, left by their brushing wings.
Brushing her hair until it snapped with electricity
Brushing up on your short game at the practice area is fine and good, but taking it with you to the golf course - when your score is really on the line - is another story.
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