Rush
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.