The kind of girl with messy hair,
The one with a yellow pad and a pen.
She’s just wearing a big baseball jersey shirt
worn-out washed pants, rolled-up at the ends.
A coffee on her table,
Looking out the window through her glasses.
She seemed unnoticed,
Yet felt like she has been collected.
The next song made her smile,
Dancing in the lyrical harmony you, too, enjoyed.
Then she stopped with her dreams,
As the door opens, ringing wind chimes.
A little boy came up to her,
Hugging her like she’s one of his own.
A little boy kissed her cheek and said
“Mom, let’s have waffles.”