Sundays are for lovers


Quiet feet touching under the soft covers as arms come closer and goosebumps dance together on our spines. All senses intertwined dancing on the rays of the sun, shyly creeping through the curtains. I turn to you, hide my face in the bone that holds the curve of your shoulder and the softness of your neck together. And I breathe you all in…

“Cofee?

  • mhm…”

Little snapshots of moments dangle with perfection: coffee boiling, you in a white shirt, standing on your toes, spoon in your mouth talking about nothing at all… If I could choose to be stuck in a single loop for all of eternity, it would be this one… you laughing in the kitchen on a Sunday morning.

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