She is a flame. A beacon. Her blazing light draws everyone in, but her heat never lets them get too close.
Most people spend all their time trying to figure her out. Who is this girl with the many masks? She stands like a flag flickering in the wind; you can't miss her, if only for that bright orange hair of hers. Yet at the same time she's hidden, and no one can seem to find her.
Around people, she walks like a one-man army. Head up, shoulders set. She doesn't realize she's doing it, because the instant a friend comes into view, she relaxes and a smile bursts onto her face. A smile that will light up the room.
Strike up a conversation with her, and you'll find that she has a vast store of knowledge. It spreads over nearly every topic, and dives even deeper into some. She can speak of the newest video games or the state of politics in Serbia; she knows the ins and outs of verve jazz and can recite Shakespeare.
She always carries around a ukulele, a guitar, or a skateboard. The instruments are both carved up with constellations and lyrics, and there's an airbrushed arrow on the board.
She learned to skate in a day. You'll often find her with a group of punks, laughing and showing off like the rest of them. But every now and then, if you're looking for it, you'll catch a glimpse of her riding alone in the distance.
Her jeans are always tattered. A lot of her is, really.
You'll rarely catch her alone, but when you do, you can tell what song is in her head by the way she walks. No more marching. Sometimes she traces things on the pavement with her toe. Sometimes her hands float up and drift in the air. Other times she walks really, really slowly, and it's those times that her eyes are closed.
And she can play. Heavens, she can play. Her taste in music is an ocean, but she has a few albums that she listens to over and over again. It's these songs which are burned onto her heart, and she'll sit on the sidewalk with her guitar and let the music soar. A small crowd will gather to watch those fingers fly up and down the strings. She sings of dreams and religion, and the people listen.
I don't know how she does it, but she drinks her coffee black as night. Iced in the summer, steamy in the winter.
Of course, the boys are all over her. It's almost a competition with them, and all the while they know that no one will win her. For she guards her heart with that fierce fire. They can try, but she has a witty retort to every pickup line. It's like she can snap her fingers and make you look stupid.
She used to believe in love, she says. Now she just believes in God.
I've never seen someone so cynical and compassionate at the same time. She welcomes all, but trusts none. It's why she streaks her eyes black, but still lets people see her smile. It's why she holds her head high, but still greets everyone with a hug. She'll walk away from a crowded table to join the person sitting alone.
Maybe this is why people come to her to talk about life. I mean, the deep stuff. She mostly listens, but you can see her mind unfolding what she hears. Sometimes she'll pull out the small, leather-bound book she always keeps in her backpack, and she'll start flipping the pages.
There are so many details. The list is just too long. There's the way her eyes spark when she's excited, or the small tattoo of the moon on her wrist. There's the way she can tell the day's weather with a glance at the morning sky. She looks at the stars the way one looks at a lover. She picks up lucky dimes instead of lucky pennies. Thai food is her favorite, and she can eat with chopsticks. When it rains, she'll walk straight outside without an umbrella. She always smells like summer.
But it all comes back to that arrow on her skateboard. I think she knows which direction she's going. She just doesn't know where the path will take her.
To me, she's existed for a very long time. But she's never told me her name.
Because to her, I am invisible.
