With her perfumed smile and playful charisma, she caught the eyes of the pretty, pretty boys. She was never a classical beauty yet you would remember her forever. One day, she took off, heading to the Gold Coast, she said. For sure, we will never meet anyone like her again.
When she was just eleven, she’d play the Tarots, while we were chasing ruddy cats. When she turned thirteen, she elegantly breathed fire instead of blowing out her candles. Certainly, nobody could ignore that this bohemian sensibility would define her style.
Boys dreamt of holding her hand. She’d take them, but would read their fortune instead. Girls would tell her their secrets; they called her the gipsy queen of hearts.
They told us she was last seen in Akita, dancing kabuki like a Geisha. No doubt, she will always be an eternal traveler; taking anyone she meets on a glamorous hippie trail.
We think about her in the evening, while looking at the moon. We think about her at night, while counting the stars.