These Sunday Evenings

“A place to drift off, to find yourself loosening up and catching quite the recreational nap, as sunlight would filter through the window and rest  like a feather on one side of your face, all light and warm.”

I am so grateful for our little time-loop, our escape from the world. It’s not much, just a couple hours every Sunday, around 3 to 6, tea, cake and conversation or leafing through newspapers. A few hours of watching crap TV or of playing the same Mario Kart or Just Dance.

Sometimes, we all just lie down and ease into our own worlds, bodies still heavy and weary from the drudgery of the past week, and we don’t talk. We just shove each other around and gaze into our phones.

It seems a pity, doesn’t it?

You don’t see somebody for a whole week and when you do, you don’t even look at them.  But we never needed that anyway. It was never about how much we talked or what we talked about. It was just about being there, all together. Like an agreed upon thing we never discussed, these Sundays at Nan’s place. Some place safe. Somewhere you always belonged even though you could freeze your bum off on the tiled floor if someone decided to sprawl all over the bed. A place to drift off, to find yourself loosening up and catching quite the recreational nap, as sunlight would filter through the window and rest  like a feather on one side of your face, all light and warm. A time to suddenly notice the birdsong and the sounds of motorcycle engines roaring away. A place to reminisce or to tease (“I swear the mattress dipped half a metre down after you ate those 2 slices of banana bread.”) Or talk about the neighbours. Or complain about life and exams and expectations, or moaning about how there is nothing to do.

Just bring yourself, eat cake, drink tea, and be whatever the day wills you into.


Note: ‘NaNoWriMo’ Day 5

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