sunday

The clock reads 7:18 AM, just as you are awaking; but despite the early time, there is not an ounce of exhaustion within you. You turn to look beside you, where a person used to lay. The white, linen sheets are crinkled, proof that someone was indeed there before. Coming in through the light gray curtains are streams upon streams of sunlight that brighten the beautiful colors in the bedroom. There is a certain feeling in the air, that, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, brings a sense of calmness to you.

You get out of bed and put on soft slippers, the shuffling of your feet filling the silence of the house. As you get closer and closer to the kitchen, you hear the sizzle of bacon and the hum of the microwave. Standing in front of the stove is a figure, still dressed in pajamas, bedhead still evident. They turn and smile at you. It’s a lazy, lopsided, toothy grin, but still one of delight. They get out ceramic plates and mugs full of warm coffee--one made exactly to your preference. The smile is still on their face, even as they plate the soft french toast and crispy bacon on plates, along with fluffy eggs, and hand it to you. You sit side-by-side on the marble counter and eat in silence, though nothing is uncomfortable. This is how all your Sunday mornings tend to go, afterall.

When you finish eating, the dirty dishes are left to be and the couch becomes occupied. The morning cartoons are on, and you both lay watching it, with your head on their chest. The subtle rise and fall of their chest, combined with their scent of vanilla, lulls you into a state of fuzzy drowsiness; but it’s not quite sleep, because the occasional laughter that comes out of their mouth is such a gem to hear that anyone would stay awake to listen to it. You stay like this for hours, even after the cartoons are off and instead replaced by staged reality shows.

It isn’t until one in the afternoon that the thought of moving even crosses your mind. You move to the kitchen, where you help them make the pizza. Although you mess up and they have to the dough restart multiple times, that sweet smile still never leaves their face. The meal turns out okay, the scent and taste of mozzarella and tomato sauce wafting around the room.

Motivation finds it’s way to you, and you pull on their arm, asking over and over if you can go to the park, pretty please. They laugh; it’s such a funny sight for you to act like a five-year-old, afterall. They still agree, and still laugh when you jump up and down out of happiness.

At the park, there are children and young adults, running around, laughing, and screaming. The trees are bright and green, the wind racing through the leaves. You race to the swings, joining in the childish atmosphere. You beat them, but say they got there first. It’s better to you if they win. They push you in the swing seat, the creaks of the old rusted metal still not as prominent as their giggles. Your heart flutters. Out of the corner of your eye, you see them staring at you; you smile at them, and they to you.

Soon, the swings bring boredom, and none of the various playground equipment seems quite big enough for people of your size. The two of you wind up in a corner booth of a quaint coffee shop, with slices of warm chocolate cake and two cool drinks. The smell of fresh bakery goods is all around. You take turns talking with them; they talk about everything, whether it be how their family is doing, or how their classes have been going, or about this one assignment that was just so difficult, it was like writing a paper the size of the Odyssey. Every word that tumbles past their lips is soft and light; they float through the air and touch your ears, giving you a butterfly kiss.

You waste hours in the cafe, and by the time you begin to walk back home, the stars are out and twinkling. Their eyes blend right in. Despite having lived in this city for a few years, they still seem fascinated with everything no matter where they go. They stare up at the skyscrapers with such hope in their eyes, hope to touch the top of them one day. They marvel at the stars, and so do you. Well, the star next to you, at least. They could outshine any celestial body, no doubt to it.

To kill time, you take the long way home. Halfway there, you grasp for their hand; it’s warm, and fits so right in yours. You hold it tight, like you’re a ship and it’s your anchor. Once you reach the apartment building, they let go of your hand and disappointment floods you. But in the blink of an eye, it’s right back in yours and the door to the apartment is wide open. They go to take a shower, and you’re left in the competent bedroom. It isn’t much later, however, that they rejoin you and you both crawl into bed in old and worn pajamas.

You instantaneously move next to one another, heat and comfort surrounding you. The sheets are cold against your cheek, but their hand is warm on your back. They mumble into your hair; they talk of different things than what they said in the cafe. This time, they whisper about their insecurities, fears, and worries. They keep their voice quiet and reserved. They smell like strawberry shampoo and too much stress. You kiss the worries away; Love is a social superior right now. The message gets across, and their grip on your back tightens. They snuggle closer to you, and their heartbeat is calmed again. Soon, snores and incoherent sleep-talking is all that leaves their mouth. You curl up, with your head on their rising and falling chest, and let sleep consume you as well.

This is how your Sundays go, afterall.

Reviews

[Christoph]

I was distracted by the second-person perspective the whole way through, unfortunately.

Wondering if there was any particular reason, looking for it.

It made me critical, and I never got a chance to get into it.

I considered copying it into notepad and changing the perspective, so I could read it for what it really is.

That's about when I decided to leave this as a review.

[kg]

i wrote this for a creative writing class three whole years ago and our teacher required us to use second person for this assignment (i know, i didn't like it either). and then i was too lazy to change it to first or third before posting it, but i don't think it really affects it all that much, in my opinion.

but thanks for reading anyways!