Gypsy Soul

By Alexia Tzortzis, TIWP Student

She had a gypsy soul,
that much was easy to tell.
You could see it in the lavender sprig she kept in the ankle of her shoe
and the silky purple of her hair,
the wandering eyes and daydreaming in the back of the class,
the turquoise and silver rings,
and the obsidian arrowhead pendant that hung on a chain from her neck.
She had a gypsy soul,
in a world where a wandering spirit was caged by the norms of the crowd.
You wanted to set that soul free.

So you befriended her,
talked to her,
became her best friend,
though you always wanted to be more.
She was a gypsy soul,
and you were the artist she became the muse of.
She was the inspiration behind your art,
your writings,
your photos.
All the space on your camera is filled with memories of her:
late night photo shoots,
traveling
hiking,
the photo shoots done to lift her spirits
when her wandering spirit was banging against its cage.

How do you feel about gypsies? You ask her.
I love them, she answers with a wistful smile,
her eyes getting that far away look.
How do you feel about being one for a day?
Her eyes light up with all the passion of the stars in the sky.
Could I?
You could be anything. 

That’s how you found yourselves in a field clearing,
her in a long skirt, ragged and still pristine at the same time,
coins sewed at the hips that jingle with every step,
rings cover her fingers and bracelets snake up around her arms
that are artfully crossed above her head
as she poses for a photo.
You look at her through the lens of your camera,
the sun shining from behind her hair, casting a halo and causing the beads and coins
to catch the light just so.
She juts her chin up slightly,
defiantly,
and you smile, because finally
that wandering spirit that you love so much
is breaking out of its cage.
The rebellious and seductive way she plays with the light of the sun
is intoxicating.
And you love her all the more for it.

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