witch baby

She sits at the table by the window and plays the guessing game most days. She is one of those strange people, that isn't lonely, one of those people that is unreachable, too good for this world. She reminds me of Townes Van Zandt, the way she lives haphazardly, moving so fast, but so slow, always throwing people behind her. The type of person that never lets you know anything about them, not because they don't want you to know, but simply because you could never know. These people are angels. They are lovely in their tragic way and as much as you know you don't want to be them, you do.
She knows everything. I don’t mean the cheap dirty kind of knowledge that helps people get jobs and win money on game shows. The pure intuitive type of knowledge. She sums everything up in a look. I can see it as she stares out the window looking at all the people. She likes this game that she plays, the guessing game.
She sees a couple walk by and they clench their hands together, as though they would lose each other if they weren’t holding on. Then the girl with a razda hat and dreads walks by, braless, careless to the point of being moody. You can tell she is so concerned about not caring, that she is not enjoying herself. The true version of what this girl wants to be is walking right behind her, wearing a slight smirk, and strutting in a way that lets you know she is ready for whatever is going to happen, but she isn't waiting for anything. The boy behind this girl, he is pale and awkward. He walks cautiously and keeps his eyes straight forward; if he doesn't look at anyone, anything, he will remain invisible and he feels safer that way.
I walk up to this deathly pale, wiry haired angel with the piercing blue eyes. I want to see her as she sums me up. This girl is fierce, her eyes are the ocean, she is rough and dirty, her hair is in knots, and she is the prettiest thing I have ever seen. Oh, she is tragic, as though she holds all the sadness in the world.