black hair - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
There is something about an afro that is so beautiful and bold. I love black hair, especially in those tousled spikes. It's a sort of visual joy reaching upward to the heavens. It's confidence and strength, natural and pretty.
Black braids fall about Amy's face creating soft shadows under her cheekbones. Other than the brilliant white of her August smile and the pink of her lips, she is a perfect blend of browns from her skin to her Sunday dress.
Her hair flowed down her back like black ink of a tilted piece of parchment. Her eyes were fox-like and had an icy greyish green hue like the first sprouts of plants in the snow.
Her hair shone like the sea at night, the black strands utterly white where the bright rays fell. As she moved, so did those brilliant bands, like echoes of the northern lights.
Hair so black against skin so white isn't expected in these parts. The shock and the contrast only serve to make her all the more ghostly, all the more haunting. When she turns to look her eyes are pale like the lightest of blue petals in the strongest of sunlight. And so she is prized and reviled in equal portion, sought and rejected, admired and distrusted.
The hair that falls over the beach towel, becoming sandy at the ends, is black but not naturally so. In the summer light there is a purple undertone, the signature of a chemical dye. No doubt under the umbrella that shades her head are are roots of pale brown.
Her hair lies black and poker straight, yet soft, moving like prairie grass in the wind. It gives contrast to her face, so dark against her soft brown skin. She is part of the beauty of this place rather than a thing apart. There is something of her spirit here in the trees and the waterways, as if they are always in communion and so happy together.
Into her inky hair she weaves vivid colours that change by the week. No matter the hues she is beautiful, doesn't everything look great with black?
...your hair so thick, cascading down your delicate skin like midnight waves on a sandy beach.
Her hair were not too long, not too short. Not too straight nor too curly, but what made me adore them that they were so perfectly jet black. The shade was so dark with bright shines creating a great contrast. They were soft and silky. I could tell apart each strand.
I trailed my hands around my neck, entwining my fingers through the black strands of hair like pools of the purest ink, but the faintest light already made them reflect an indigo blue by each curve.