His Song

My brother ambled into my room, appearing to the outside world as oblivious as he had always appeared as. He came in slowly and stopped, looking around as if in awe.

Under the duvet cover, I lay unmoved, unconscious still. It is almost noon on Sunday, but I had a late night, and revelled in that Sunday morning feeling of waking up late.

He ambled towards me, and, placing his hands on me, shook me slowly.

I stirred, and opened my eyes slightly. Seeing that it's him, I grunted a hello, before closing my eyes again.

He wouldn't let up. He shook me again, and motioned towards my guitar against the corner of my room.

I grunted him to go away.

Of course, he didn't listen. He sat down next to my bed, cross legged on the floor, and kept bothering me.

Until I realised what was really going on. At how stupid I'm being.

I opened my eyes, and went to pick up the guitar, before settling back in bed.

Then I started strumming.

I hope you don't mind, Abali. I hope you don't mind that I put down in words.

How wonderful life is...while you're in the world.