The tall actress had hair the color of a dying crocus in late spring, which waved elegantly across a forehead that resembled the sky over the horizon of a tranquil rural village. She was, in a word, really hot. "Welcome to the theatre." The young artist said, gazing at her with his sculpted cheekbones. "I would be honored if you would read my script." He held out a piece of toilet paper, calligraphed with a work of such genius the purple-haired actress began to weep, but not in a gross way.
I ONLY WISH I HAD THE HAIR COLOR OF A DYING CROCUS RN
/weeps with laughter/
(meme)







