light floods the bedroom rays of sunshine seeping through the blinds hitting your face, a warm glow on your skin
you won’t wake up for a while, and even then Sunday mornings call for lying in bed for hours
fingers intertwined
breakfast being made (more of a brunch) acoustic guitar, the official soundtrack of Sunday accompanied by our laughter and the sink running as we wash the dishes
late mornings and early nights
there is nothing else to do on Sunday in bed once again by nine o’clock