Literature
gypsy love
she had sad eyes.
‘sad,’ perhaps, wasn’t the right word, for there was joy in them, too. longing and sadness and naïveté, combined with a wisdom well beyond her nineteen years.
she was beauty, light, freedom. her entire being fought against the cage of her body, for she was more star than human. galaxies shimmered on her skin and the cool glow of the moon lit her heart.
she didn’t talk much, but I often tried to imagine the sort of things she might say. every time her eyes lit up behind the shadow of her lashes, I longed to know what she was thinking.
she seemed to me to be lost in her own mind. I couldn&
