i just realized that i don't like good mourning as much as i like previous albums.

no title yet. its not even done. she's alone. she's sitting at a small, round, two person table, in the middle of the crowded student union. she's resting her head softly on her hand so that her blond pony tail falls forward over her ears. her legs are crossed delicately under the table, and her foot hops nervously back and forth. a few stray hairs fall gracefully in front of her eyes and she brushes them back with a finely manicured hand. her french tips are the perfect compliment to her tan peacoat over a pink sweater. sporatically, her eyes glance up from the screen of her laptop, and focus on the area around the door. she's waiting for someone. perhaps an old friend, reuniting after the crazy post-high school summer in their new grown-up lives. or maybe she's waiting for a boy, the love of her life. her foot still bobs anxiously, but she's switched legs.