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She has hearse black hair
she rolls it between her fingers as she waits for her ride
sitting on the edge of a bench outside the pharmacy

She has sky blue eyes
searching the traffic river
eyes that sparkle even in the fading light

She has four silver hoop earrings
too thin to make music (mute windchimes)
but loose enough to catch the breeze

She leaves a small red notebook
on the bench when she jumps in the car
every page filled with drawings of clouds

Her hair was not always this black,
in fact it was naturally brown;
twice it was blonde, once burgundy.

Sometimes she changed it with the seasons.
Cut it up or grew it out,
made big curls or short spikes.

But I rather liked this jet black shade.
It matched the big black combat boots
she was wearing on the day she dyed

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