A Day

As the sun creeps towards my window and the wind soothes my skin with its unique comfort, I open my eyes, which are heavy from hours of sleep. After glancing at my clock, I jump out of bed to start a new day. My mornings tend to determine how my whole day will go, so ignoring the loud snores, I head towards the living room.

The pin-drop silence in the morning never failed to calm me down. I forget about all my worries. I plop onto my couch with a cup of warm milk, reminding me of the warm, spicy tea my grandmother makes in India. Succeeding a so-called self morning ritual by my mother, I get up and rush into the bathing room to be sure my sister doesn’t get there before me.

Soon enough, it’s evening. The sun starts to settle down as slow as a turtle. The colours of the evening sky always manage to bewilder me. It isn’t the fact that the colours blend perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle, but that the colours and the patterns are always new.

Every day brings new meaning, just like every leaf on a tree brings a new essence to the tree. The morning weather where I am is always the same, explaining that no one is born perfect; everyone has faults. The evening is always aesthetically pleasing, telling me that even if the beginning is hard, the end will be good.