Sundays are for writing.
When the excitement of the weekend’s dance has come and gone.
When the laughs and tears and smiles have all been spent and done.
The truth still lingers.

It lies in wait for you to notice it.
“write me down, take note of me,”
it begs and pleads you desperately.
It partners up with happiness and creativity.

The inspirations come flooding in from left and right and down below. With no distractions to bother me, I’ll never tell them no.
My mind is lighting up and racing round at such a speed,
but really,
I’ve most likely smoked a little too much ****.