I exhaled; and the weight of the world left my body…. on a slow Sunday morning.
Thick sheets, full and white, strew about & piled softly. Warm gold light poured in through the lacy veils covering the windows. The pane an invisible barrier between the two worlds, inside and out, stark in their contrasts. The sun was the bright because the air was thin and cold. Wisps of steam escaped the from every fleeting breath; but not ours. Melting in a soft pool of comfort, and a mountain of bliss. Skin so warm and smooth, our feet sticking from under the sheets. We melted into each other and the cozy contentment of a slow Sunday morning. We were awake but without ever really waking up. Talking about an infinite number of futures that sometimes placed us on distant shores and sometimes in a simple life in the country. We’d thought about kids and then un-thought them as we opened up the B&B in a foreign land. Minutes became hours as we went on like this.
The knocking and jangling of a cantankerous old radiator filled the room with a hiss and warmth poured fourth once more. Slippers and wool socks allowed you to leave for a moment, if you had to; just to put the coffee on. Soon our morning was threatening to become an afternoon, and we had still only spoken in hushed tones. Vapors escaped the steaming cup next to me, neglected for the pages of a noisily leafed through book. As the sun rose and it’s rich brightness moved, sure and steady, across the floor and on to the wall, I exhaled; and the weight of the world left my body…. on a slow Sunday morning.