Motion.

She was sitting at the dining table, with one leg on the seat and the other carelessly hanging. She was wearing a purple tank top and yellow knickers. Her brown hair was almost brushing her neck from a sloppy bun that couldn't contain all of it. Her glasses were a make-do hair band, saving a few strands from cascading into her hazel eyes. They housed what remained of black mascara, that was accentuating the proud freckles on her nose. She had a normal sized face, with lips and things.

A half-eaten Nutella crepe and a cup of luke-warm coffee with sparing creamer were on the table. Along with lots of books - most of which were open, a laptop, loose paper with nonchalant cursive and some pens. Her concave back was facing translucent glass jars and mundane groceries. To her right was a big window with blinds and on the far end, a sink with an unwashed bowl.

The Chrome on her Macbook was revealing a Facebook chat, mostly filled with hearts and kiss emoticons. The top-bar displayed 6:47 AM and Alex Turner was singing in the background, something about a Ford Cortina. There was a lingering scent of burned vanilla, probably from a put-out candle. The rising sun was helping push horizontal bars across the floor, table, and the side of her face.

She winced to dodge the bright orange from her eyes which was bouncing off the bridge of her nose. She turned a page on the book she was reading, something about grasshoppers. The song changed to something more upbeat. She nodded to the beat and took another bite off her crepe. Both her feet were on the cold marble now, and she was tapping her right one. The red on her toes were worn out. She turned the book upside down on the table and placed her cup on it's spine. She rhythmically walked over to the window and pulled up the blinds. She wiped the dew on her side of the glass and saw her reflection. 

The song changed again. And she smiled.