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Oh god his curls.
I wouldn’t call myself religious by any means, but there is no explanation but a holy power. No earthling could create those curls. The chocolate-moose curls are swirling and dancing on his head like only Van Gogh himself painted them. I could write sonnet after sonnet about those godly curls. They dance their way onto his shoulders like they were made for the sole purpose of destroying me.
God I must have been cross faded.