Scribble: A particularly wistful evening.

      Somewhere she sits, sipping on some tea on some lazy coffeehouse evening, gracefully brushing locks from eyes so warm that passersby thaw at the sight.
      Somewhere she sits, reading only half the pages, as one eye drifts around to other smiles and laughs and fingers delicately interlaced, only to leave fingers longing for some warmth...
      Somewhere she sits, closing the other half of her book and turning the warmth of her eyes to melt the hands on the clock.
      Somewhere she sits, and wonders if we'll ever meet...