Prosaicness

It is still dawn when I step outside the veranda of my grandma's house. The birds are singing and the smell of fresh dew hangs in the air. With every minute, the sun breaks through the darkened sky and I can feel slow rising sun rays on my face. 

The neighbourhood awakens and more and more noises arise within the tranquillity of the morning. For me it's still quiet, as the last few days were so jam-packed with information and events that my mind didn't have any time yet to just calmly let everything sink in properly. 

I feel like being dragged around to all the various things that spontaneously come along and the exhaustion dawns on me like the sun rays that warm up my face.

I run my hand along the wooden veranda. My fingertips can feel some uneven bumps and notches inside the planks. That's where Chiye and I played the most. 

One notch in particular is connected to our first ever dispute. Or at least that was something that resembles a fight the best.