I was holding a knife. A blunt, serrated, steel knife with a smooth shiny surface. My reflection a slight blur on top of it, as it glinted in the bright kitchen. Sunlight streamed in through the glass panes of the windows, a nostalgic warmth that I didn't know I would miss so much. The normality of the situation as well, as I dragged the cold knife against the smoking hot pancakes to cut a more manageable piece that I could chew inside my mouth. The taste of it melting against my tongue like the butter it was smeared in. A perfect balance of sweetness and texture.
The clatter of knives and forks was the only thing that kept the silence dead in the kitchen and the whole house. The lively noise that made the atmosphere seem like it is dwelt in, otherwise the lack of Ivan and his nosiness wo
