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Between the green and the rose, erupts the thistle and the elastic insolence of its petals. Romantic, maybe like a rock, she wears her flower dress with boots. She emerges of disorder and hazard, but moves forward, in her leather jacket used by stories, with the confidence of a biker poetess. She has no age, doesn't care about being too old or too young, she is like a perfume, the time to be remembered.