Blurry skies. Cracked street tiles. Wind sitting on every windowsill, playing the same old bittersweet melody (she probably wants to get in). Orange coffee cups. Indie rock. That particular song from last fall, but I can’t remember the name. Polaroid pictures. People talking in secret languages. “Stuck In Love” for the tenth time this year. And “500 Days of Summer”. Almond croissants. Quiet. Busy streets. Crappy coffee from university’s vending machine. Still coffee, though. Free periods. Old notebooks filled with arts and crafts and never-ending lists.
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