Like Sunday Morning

You never knew that you could hold Sunday morning in your hands.

Watch her chest rise and fall as she slept, or count the freckles on her shoulders as day began to break through the lowered bedroom blinds.

You didn’t know that Sunday morning smelled of warm vanilla and had a voice reminiscent of old country love songs.

Just as you never knew you could hold Sunday morning in your hands, you didn’t know that she would always be Sunday morning whether you were awake to her or not.

She would be Sunday morning whether you watched her sun rise, bathed in steam from her coffee, or laid alone on the bathroom floor after too many glasses convinced you that Saturday night might be able to love you better.

Because whatever temperature, she would continue to be Sunday morning uninfluenced by the existence of you.

She’d still be Sunday morning without you tangled within her sheets.

Running your fingertips down the seams of her sun bleached wallpaper.

Whether awakened by unexpected rain on the window, or the sound of him running the shower, she will hold that which she meets with the eloquence of Sunday morning and a softness you dared strip

her of when you decided it wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t enough.

Because to you, it was just Sunday morning.

You didn’t understand the simple pleasures of cold hardwood underfoot.

You didn’t think to savor the sound the mattress made, sighing in relief of holding her.

The promise of sweating water glasses on windowsills.

The too far to touch worry of whatever Monday morning could bring.

Just as you never knew you could hold Sunday morning in your hands, you didn’t know that when you decided something else might feel better between your fingers she would leave without so much as the creak of a floorboard under toe.

She would leave as if she was never there. Slept through as consequence.

She would be too busy being Sunday morning, uninfluenced by the existence of you, to let you back in once you decided you miss the feel of her sun on your face.

Her lips on your skin.

Because while you were busy chasing Saturday night, she found someone unafraid to give into his days just to lie beside her, undistracted, as if she were all there was.

As if she were Sunday morning and everything was in pursuit of falling into her.