Ruby I lay in my bed twirling my short ponytail around my fingers. The perfect ringlet has formed from sheer boredom. I contemplate what true beauty is. Whether it's internal or external. Whether it's natural or forced. Whether I've got it or not. I glimpse at my hair, dyed a ruby red with split ends that I never seem to get around to chopping and realise beauty is not real. It's a pigment of our imagination of what we'd like to look like or feel like. I can only dream one day that I'll be considered a pigment of someones imagination.
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