a strand of hair floated down like falling autumnal leaf, into my plate of spagetti, which, all things considered equal, would have normally repulsed me, but as it was her strand of hair, only added to the delicious meal.
of hair that you leave everywhere. All over the room. Just tokens of you. The memories we create, we share. Strand of perfection – reminds me of you. I love you, sleepy. Please, shed some more.
A strand of people stood outside the building. Occasionally, the strand would be blown about the wind, and the people would move back and forth like a worm. A dying worm, as they didn’t move much. It was obviously not the most inspiring scene, so I turned my attention away.
Across the way was a screaming bright neon sign. A little alcohol bottle shook its frothy foam to and fro. I decided to venture into the building that the sign advertised for, obviously a bar.
One day I was stranded on a desert island. I had only a book and a pair of sewing scissors with me. I was screwed. I though – what can I do with these two things. I quickly used the scissors to cut the binding off the book to use for its strong texture.
Strand? Like a hair? Or like I’m hanging by a strand? I like neither, because the strand I was just hanging by has broken. I’m free. Yes, that’s right – school got out not 20 minutes ago, and I am, or rather, was a senior.
strand as in the place on the monopoly board, one of the red ones I think, doesn’t cost that much as far as I remember. Also a type of hair, which I guess is a better definition, less defined by culture. Oh god that reminds me of my exam next week, I’ve been revising all day and my head’s blagging. Strand, strand…what else is it related to. No idea……I’ll just have to end here then.
hair that stands straight up or that is frizzy. a piece of fabric. one part that is left for you to grab onto. please don’t leave me. there is hope for everything in life. silky, soft and luxurious. slipping through my fingers.
A sea strand. Like the one of the beach at Coronado where I proposed to my wife. The sun was going down and the blonde strands of her hair were mixing with mine. When I think of strand, I think of her.
Why the hell do you need my email address if it will never be available on the site, and you promise never to spam me? Sounds like a scam to me. Anyway, here I am typing, and although I sound like a pissed off old bitch I really don’t give a fuck. But why do you need my e-mail address?
Strands of brain hanging from my spear. I just gored you in the face, motherfucker. Strands of rain dripping from my eyes.
a place in london I think is called the strand. ow the hell do I know what else to write? Thi s is mhch harder on a computer than handwriting, I have to say. Still pretty cool though. Getting the creative juices flowinf, I fuess. But hey, now I’m out of things to say. Not done tyoo bad touchtuyping, etiher, TIME IS RUNNING OUT!
I watched as another strand of hair fell from her head. She was weak and frail. The color from her once apricot complexion had become pasty like a ghost. I wondered how much more of her hair would fall out. Would she ever get it back?
I see a strand of your hair falling over your shoulder, it strokes your face as it falls so silently, and bounces as it finally comes to a stop. I see the sun shining on it and bringing out the copper tones. I love how each strand of your hair seems so alive but soft and gentle just like you. The shine in your hair echoes in the shine of your eyes and it reminds me of how much I love you and wish you were mine to love.
Her long blond strand of curly head remnants drifted slowly into my soup. Which in turn then clung to my spoon in disgusting indifference and ended up in my mouth.
A strand of her hair fell down against her bare shoulder. She walked down the street. Strutted would probably be a better word for it. She was headed to meet her blind date. She was looking for a daisy. “I’ll be carrying a white daisy,” he had said. She hadn’t known why he had picked that specific flower, but it was her favorite. She smiled to herself, as if she carried all of the secrets of the world.
Strand. The strand auditorium. strands of hair of an old flame found on your pillowcase. Strands of DNA. Smaller pieces of a whole with significance. stranded on a d3esert isle
a strand of hair in my face it is blonde. i wish it were blodner. and smoother. i wish it were not curley. it is beautiful when you think abou tit in the movies it is messily in her face by accident on purpose. i wish i looked like that, so effortless. But i cant. i try so hard adn then am just mediocre. I try so hard and its just .. okay. I hate the effortless beautiful people. I wish i were like them. I am not ugly, but it would be more comfortable. everyoe has their own problems but i would just liek to be like that.
strand is the word which means small particle.
its only …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
sleeping next to master shedder, you will wake up to find hairs in very unorthodox places on your body. These strands are far longer than the typical hairs found in these positions on the human body and often, they are wrapped in very peculiar ways in very peculiar places.
help me I do not knwo what to write, I am stuck in a pool of mud and I cannot get out.
I think I am drowning in a pool of blood from the person I just killed and it is saining my clothes. I need to get some bleach to get it out before the police see it.
HELP I NEED MORE BLEACH!!
If the police come they will arrest me and put me in jail, then I will be done in the butt by Brutas and I do not do it that way
Sometimes a strand of hair from my girlfriends head is all I would need to make me smile when I find myself this far away from her both physically and emotionally. The way the hair curls makes me happy…
A strand is a wisp of something – part of what makes a whole. A strand of hair can be part of a braid, rather insignificant in itself but when blended or meshed with other strands an entire picture is formed.
Always value your part as a strand in the lives of those around you.
She picked up the thread from the floor- one strand of denim, all that was left of him and his arse-hugging jeans that she’d lusted over for the past three weeks.
One pair of jeans, one fumbled snog in a pub toilet and fivue minutes of passion after she’d peeld those jeans off his thighs.
What a wasted night!
a strand of hair is all i see every time i look at my wash cloth..ew wash cloth its more than just a strand its a couple if not a hairfull..no no thats digusting but its okay its fine that im digusting because your disgusting as well you have some little thing your hiding that is even mroe or just as digusting as mine…heheheheheheheheh
I just read an article about a mid-thirties particle physicist who would advance Einstein’s theory of relativity. He is a specialist in String Theory and will be conducting research at a new facility in Switzerland. Strand … String. It’s what came to mind. :o]
My strands of hair are thick and curly, not unlike my strands of pearls, thick and round. Strands of spun sugar illuminate in the sun as the dust particles swirl around it. Strands in the cosmos, strands on our bodies, strands all around, strands connecting us, making us whole.
From the top all I could see was the edge of the sea. And the railing. And a tiny ship, on fire on the horizon. And a thousand little people crawling out, screaming, counting down their last few gasps of oxygen before they couldn’t anymore. So goodbye then, sara. You always were the risktaker.
there was single, overwrought burned out strand trailing past the ephemeral doorpassing that somehow sybolised everythimg she’s ever wondered about. she crossed to look past the door, to where the string leads in its’ quiet, solicitous way. she glances back to the door briefly, indescision written and matted across the vast wasteland of her opened forehead… she hurries on towards her goal, unminding the strand and towards the imposing frame of the columnal passageway.
to me the word strand has every relation with the saying being stranded somewhere. It means being stuck somewhere, for better or worse. I, myself, use this word only in this sentence. Which is not to often.
Strand is the name of a bookstore in Manhattan. The owners are miserable fuckers, but it is a pretty cool store. The place smells of old paper and there are completely random books about everything from The Sikhs of the Punjab to Gardening (boring). I once went looking for a book that some bitch in one of my classes had taken from the library and not returned, but they didn’t have it there.
I remember learning this word in Dutch for the first time. I think it meant beach. I can’t really remember now since it has been something like 10 years ago that I even opened those language books. I sat there at the table in the bookstore copiously copying down every word..with it’s English translation; hoping that something would eventually sink in.
a strand of a string makes the whole string stronger wow those words were similar in sound anyway a strand of hair is a single ina million kinda like poeple so we are like the hair ona a wig of the world and the earth is a head along with all the other planets in class and thats just inour classroom theres other rooms in other schools in other countries. wow.
strand of hair in my eye its in my eye this strand of hair taunting me altering my world view this little strand of hair in my mouth it isnt very pleasant STRAND OF HAIR GET OUT OF MY EYE.
a strand of hair floated down like falling autumnal leaf, into my plate of spagetti, which, all things considered equal, would have normally repulsed me, but as it was her strand of hair, only added to the delicious meal.
of hair that you leave everywhere. All over the room. Just tokens of you. The memories we create, we share. Strand of perfection – reminds me of you. I love you, sleepy. Please, shed some more.
A strand of people stood outside the building. Occasionally, the strand would be blown about the wind, and the people would move back and forth like a worm. A dying worm, as they didn’t move much. It was obviously not the most inspiring scene, so I turned my attention away.
Across the way was a screaming bright neon sign. A little alcohol bottle shook its frothy foam to and fro. I decided to venture into the building that the sign advertised for, obviously a bar.
beach, beach house, Hermosa, CA. Summer of love. Bicycle riding, then the party. All at the strand. Without ever leaving. I still remember her.
One day I was stranded on a desert island. I had only a book and a pair of sewing scissors with me. I was screwed. I though – what can I do with these two things. I quickly used the scissors to cut the binding off the book to use for its strong texture.
Strand? Like a hair? Or like I’m hanging by a strand? I like neither, because the strand I was just hanging by has broken. I’m free. Yes, that’s right – school got out not 20 minutes ago, and I am, or rather, was a senior.
strand as in the place on the monopoly board, one of the red ones I think, doesn’t cost that much as far as I remember. Also a type of hair, which I guess is a better definition, less defined by culture. Oh god that reminds me of my exam next week, I’ve been revising all day and my head’s blagging. Strand, strand…what else is it related to. No idea……I’ll just have to end here then.
hair that stands straight up or that is frizzy. a piece of fabric. one part that is left for you to grab onto. please don’t leave me. there is hope for everything in life. silky, soft and luxurious. slipping through my fingers.
A sea strand. Like the one of the beach at Coronado where I proposed to my wife. The sun was going down and the blonde strands of her hair were mixing with mine. When I think of strand, I think of her.
Why the hell do you need my email address if it will never be available on the site, and you promise never to spam me? Sounds like a scam to me. Anyway, here I am typing, and although I sound like a pissed off old bitch I really don’t give a fuck. But why do you need my e-mail address?
Strands of brain hanging from my spear. I just gored you in the face, motherfucker. Strands of rain dripping from my eyes.
I caught a strand as I saw the ball of yarn flying overhead. The ball fell fast in a mud puddle then my time was up
a place in london I think is called the strand. ow the hell do I know what else to write? Thi s is mhch harder on a computer than handwriting, I have to say. Still pretty cool though. Getting the creative juices flowinf, I fuess. But hey, now I’m out of things to say. Not done tyoo bad touchtuyping, etiher, TIME IS RUNNING OUT!
I watched as another strand of hair fell from her head. She was weak and frail. The color from her once apricot complexion had become pasty like a ghost. I wondered how much more of her hair would fall out. Would she ever get it back?
You can’t see something like this coming. Once it gets you it holds on for dear life. It drains you of all of your senses. Lovestrand.
I see a strand of your hair falling over your shoulder, it strokes your face as it falls so silently, and bounces as it finally comes to a stop. I see the sun shining on it and bringing out the copper tones. I love how each strand of your hair seems so alive but soft and gentle just like you. The shine in your hair echoes in the shine of your eyes and it reminds me of how much I love you and wish you were mine to love.
Her long blond strand of curly head remnants drifted slowly into my soup. Which in turn then clung to my spoon in disgusting indifference and ended up in my mouth.
A strand of her hair fell down against her bare shoulder. She walked down the street. Strutted would probably be a better word for it. She was headed to meet her blind date. She was looking for a daisy. “I’ll be carrying a white daisy,” he had said. She hadn’t known why he had picked that specific flower, but it was her favorite. She smiled to herself, as if she carried all of the secrets of the world.
Strand. The strand auditorium. strands of hair of an old flame found on your pillowcase. Strands of DNA. Smaller pieces of a whole with significance. stranded on a d3esert isle
a strand of hair in my face it is blonde. i wish it were blodner. and smoother. i wish it were not curley. it is beautiful when you think abou tit in the movies it is messily in her face by accident on purpose. i wish i looked like that, so effortless. But i cant. i try so hard adn then am just mediocre. I try so hard and its just .. okay. I hate the effortless beautiful people. I wish i were like them. I am not ugly, but it would be more comfortable. everyoe has their own problems but i would just liek to be like that.
Her hair was wisping all over her face- strands fluttered above her eyelashes and tangoed with the corner of her laughing lips.
A single strand of curly hair keeps falling in my face, distracting me from the task at hand. It’s always been untamed.
strand is the word which means small particle.
its only …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
damn this is pretty hard……lets see brand of tobacco??? some shit like that.
sleeping next to master shedder, you will wake up to find hairs in very unorthodox places on your body. These strands are far longer than the typical hairs found in these positions on the human body and often, they are wrapped in very peculiar ways in very peculiar places.
help me I do not knwo what to write, I am stuck in a pool of mud and I cannot get out.
I think I am drowning in a pool of blood from the person I just killed and it is saining my clothes. I need to get some bleach to get it out before the police see it.
HELP I NEED MORE BLEACH!!
If the police come they will arrest me and put me in jail, then I will be done in the butt by Brutas and I do not do it that way
Sometimes a strand of hair from my girlfriends head is all I would need to make me smile when I find myself this far away from her both physically and emotionally. The way the hair curls makes me happy…
A strand is a wisp of something – part of what makes a whole. A strand of hair can be part of a braid, rather insignificant in itself but when blended or meshed with other strands an entire picture is formed.
Always value your part as a strand in the lives of those around you.
She picked up the thread from the floor- one strand of denim, all that was left of him and his arse-hugging jeans that she’d lusted over for the past three weeks.
One pair of jeans, one fumbled snog in a pub toilet and fivue minutes of passion after she’d peeld those jeans off his thighs.
What a wasted night!
a strand of hair is all i see every time i look at my wash cloth..ew wash cloth its more than just a strand its a couple if not a hairfull..no no thats digusting but its okay its fine that im digusting because your disgusting as well you have some little thing your hiding that is even mroe or just as digusting as mine…heheheheheheheheh
I just read an article about a mid-thirties particle physicist who would advance Einstein’s theory of relativity. He is a specialist in String Theory and will be conducting research at a new facility in Switzerland. Strand … String. It’s what came to mind. :o]
My strands of hair are thick and curly, not unlike my strands of pearls, thick and round. Strands of spun sugar illuminate in the sun as the dust particles swirl around it. Strands in the cosmos, strands on our bodies, strands all around, strands connecting us, making us whole.
From the top all I could see was the edge of the sea. And the railing. And a tiny ship, on fire on the horizon. And a thousand little people crawling out, screaming, counting down their last few gasps of oxygen before they couldn’t anymore. So goodbye then, sara. You always were the risktaker.
there was single, overwrought burned out strand trailing past the ephemeral doorpassing that somehow sybolised everythimg she’s ever wondered about. she crossed to look past the door, to where the string leads in its’ quiet, solicitous way. she glances back to the door briefly, indescision written and matted across the vast wasteland of her opened forehead… she hurries on towards her goal, unminding the strand and towards the imposing frame of the columnal passageway.
to me the word strand has every relation with the saying being stranded somewhere. It means being stuck somewhere, for better or worse. I, myself, use this word only in this sentence. Which is not to often.
I was hanging onto the cliff with just a strand of rope that happened to be attached to the bumper of my Jeep.
What luck.
Strand is the name of a bookstore in Manhattan. The owners are miserable fuckers, but it is a pretty cool store. The place smells of old paper and there are completely random books about everything from The Sikhs of the Punjab to Gardening (boring). I once went looking for a book that some bitch in one of my classes had taken from the library and not returned, but they didn’t have it there.
I remember learning this word in Dutch for the first time. I think it meant beach. I can’t really remember now since it has been something like 10 years ago that I even opened those language books. I sat there at the table in the bookstore copiously copying down every word..with it’s English translation; hoping that something would eventually sink in.
a strand of a string makes the whole string stronger wow those words were similar in sound anyway a strand of hair is a single ina million kinda like poeple so we are like the hair ona a wig of the world and the earth is a head along with all the other planets in class and thats just inour classroom theres other rooms in other schools in other countries. wow.
to leave alone or in a precarious situation. To desert, ditch, or otherwise intentionally leave one behind.
strand of hair in my eye its in my eye this strand of hair taunting me altering my world view this little strand of hair in my mouth it isnt very pleasant STRAND OF HAIR GET OUT OF MY EYE.