๋࣭ ࣪ ˖❇ ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖
The chair wasn't uncomfortable anymore. It was familiar and welcoming.
She sat in it, arms crossed on the boys bed, her head between her elbow as she watched him.
His eyes had gradually closed over time. With the only color to his face hidden between thin eyelids, he looked uncomfortably close to death.
White skin, grey hair, black eyelashes. He looked as if his painter had used black and whites only.
The room smelled like pumpkin pie and turkey. She turned slightly, looking at the floor and the food she had brought scattered on it. All untouched.
Sugawara didn't stir once in his sleep. So she kept her eyes pinned to his chest, the movements slow and shallow. To make sure he was still breathing.
Brown and orange leaves adorned the outside, the world slowly becoming as colorless as Sugawara. They couldn't be seen from his hospital room.
She couldn't wait for November to be over. But at the same time, she wished it would never end.
The habit of saying grace had kicked in, and the girl brought her hand to rest over the boys blanket covered one. She hung her head.
She couldn't think of anything to be grateful for, except for the fact that Sugawara had stayed alive for one more day.
