sunny sunday mornings

There’s something so special about Sunday mornings.

The sunshine pouring through the windows, 

reflecting sparkly sections of the linoleum, 

illuminating my little apartment in every room.

First step is to turn on the outdated stereo

tuned to Sunday Brunch, 

those cool, clear voices, 

so moving, 

pumping emotion into me.

A pair of warm socks instantly don my exposed feet, 

my favorite sweatshirt pulled overhead, 

hair immediately up into the infamous Sunday ponytail – unwashed and scraggly, 

but it doesn’t matter today.

Coffee is brewed, poured, stirred, enjoyed. 

One side of my heart feels a slight sting of sadness, 

reminiscing. 

Sunny Sunday mornings spent at home, 

the same genre of music softly echoing through the cozy house my family claimed. 

Those days spent in worn out pajamas, 

coated in a layer of dog hair from playing on the floor with the fifth family member.

Breakfast made to order. 

Sunlight spilling in from every direction, 

no houses to block the steady stream. 

Just trees upon trees, 

acres upon acres.

It’s enough to sting my eyes. My heart aches for those days.

The other half of my heart feels excitement and yearning. 

Sunny Sunday mornings spent in the new home I’m soon to create with my own man. 

This same music will echo through our halls, 

we’ll roll on the floor with our dog, 

we’ll make ourselves breakfast, too.

All the while, 

the sun sending its powerful rays through windows of a different home, 

but warming the same heart.