Flyaway brunette hair, which has a tendency to remain untidy, almost messy, despite my fruitless trims and attempts to give it body.
Tanned complexion from the long hours spent outdoors . Small forehead in which some fine lines are starting to be drawn tenuously: lines that are nothing but emotions lived throughout the years , expressions of hilarious moments, sadness or uncertainties about life itself.
Big , dark eyes framed by thick eyelashes, although shorter than I would like to , eyes particularly prone to show tiredness from living against my body clock .
My face used to be round with chubby cheeks , which have sharpened over the years, leaving any trace of my childhood behind . The sun and the sea have flecked my nose and cheeks with freckles .
When I look at myself in the mirror, my reflection sometimes seems to show another woman dwelling in my own skin , shier, quieter, happier and sometimes less confident than myself .
Living in my skin , there is someone whose mood and ideas are sometimes a bit unstable , who finds inspiration from stormy writers although she loves swinging social life , who is grumpy and impatient maybe a bit selfish when things come out wrong and troubles crop out ,because at the end of the day, when time and dreams slip away I consider acceptable to be a bit cowardly , even commit small misdemeanors if ,with that , you can be moderately happy .