The fibres of her red, golden, brown and beautiful locks are alive with promise. The light reflecting on each strand, making her more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. The sun is bright and hurts my eyes and skin, but she does not feel it.
Her limp body has received the harsh punishment life has inflicted upon her too many times. Now, she is defeated. She does not fight back, she never fights back. The terrible irony of life that emulates from her hair, rich with colour. Waves crash against the dead wood she lays upon, and we remember her just as we see her.