A love letter to Sunday...

Sunday.

My day of worship and own form of religion is comprised of eating loaded fries after spin class, baking, spending time with family/friends doing absolutely nothing extraordinary and it being completely extraordinary, making dinner, not making dinner, bubble baths, cleaning my space, avoiding direct contact with the mess in my space and refusing to acknowledge it’s very existence, napping, diving into a new book, Netflix, brunches featuring deep bellied laughs, museum dates, and enjoying a cool beer on a hot day as the sun flirts it’s way through the leaves.

You allow me to selfishly relish in every extra minute of sleep, every warm sip of coffee from bed, every drop of sweat, and every delicious bite. I long to meet you again throughout my week, and I miss you as soon as we part.   

Love,

Mel.