Sundays

You made Sundays into something sweet.

Sunday were the days I always hated.

Now they’re different with you.

You calm me when my serpent brain takes over. You don’t even know you do it.

You remind me that the sun is always there. Even when the clouds are out, the sun is hanging on your wall.

I love you. I love you especially in the morning when you’re silly and sweet and you call your room a bat cave. But it doesn’t feel like a bat cave to me when I wake up in your arms with the sun peeking through the black curtains.

Summer mornings.

I don’t mind mornings either when I’m with you. It’s my favorite spot.

I like the way you brush against me when I pass you in the hall by the newsroom.

I still get butterflies.

I like the way you smile.

It scares me that I’m writing about you.

I like my short drive across town in the early evening sun and the walk through the city to my regular bar to see my friends.

I like the walk home even better.

It’s dusk and the breeze is warm and I’m listening to The Weepies in my headphones as I weave through crowds of people drinking on the closed off block.

I’m a little buzzed myself on whiskey and Diet Cokes.

My pace slows, and I stare up at the city lights; young and beautiful and in love.

I’m completely content.

The slower I walk, the longer it will last: this way that I always want to feel… this time in my life.

Because I know it won’t always be this way.

Because I won’t let it.

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