The Perfect Sunday.
For some reason, when I hear “Sunday”, I somehow picture a sunrise, a window open with this amazing summer breeze and palm trees rustling and a really white duvet billowing all around me making me feel like I’ve literally been sleeping on a cloud all night. I picture warmth, not only from the sun, but from the person laying next to me. I picture half a face buried into the pillow right next to me, stirring awake and eyes opening… almost sparking with life or just excitement to see me and then dulling to this glow, a glow that you can’t look away from, a glow that maybe seems to come from the little flecks of gold you see swimming in this mix of emerald green and this blue that reminds you of antique fine china. I picture being able to just lay right next to someone and just look… to examine the little crinkle in their nose when they laugh or how they lick their lips before they talk or how you suddenly find freckles that remind you of star constellations that weren’t there before because you’ve never been that close before to see, and suddenly feeling special, because chances are (or at least hopefully) not very many people get to lie down next to someone that beautiful, breathe them in, and explore the little details you only have to be as close as you are now to unveil. I picture tea. I picture baking. I picture reading a book out loud to someone and having them not pay attention because they’re so enthralled in the way your lips move when you talk or the way you look when you tuck your hair behind your ear. I picture bubbling into unexplainable laughter because you’re just… happy.