festival of stars
I picture myself as she said with what I want it to look like. I picture the texture, the length, and the color. Even the style. As I open my eyes, I see the powder being sprinkled over me. I close them quickly as not to ruin the surprise. When I open my eyes, it is exactly as I imagined it. Sleek, soft, and shiny, much like that of the dolls I played with. The dark hair barely touches my shoulders and the top part is in an up-do. Beautifully braided and pinned with the red streaks flowing in so exact. Each strand in its place except for the one hanging In front of my face. That strand is my trademark. My mother always tells me to put it up with the rest or she tucks it behind my ears. Nothing can escape from back there or so you would think. It's not me trying to be disrespectful, jus
- Writer
