When perfection dies.


Jodie, Jodie, Jodie. She lay in the meadow, her beauty reflecting back at the sun that softly kissed her fine golden hair, almost disguised and intertwined within the long shoots of barley. Her infectious laugh would certainly give her away. It always did. Still this was her favourite place to hide, to suprise him.  Everyone wanted to be her; everybody wanted a piece of her. Jodie, Jodie, Jodie. Perfect in every way.

The End

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