Sunday Kind

The purpose of this is only to wax poetic about how I’ve had the recent pleasure of romanticizing my life, romancing myself, and pouring slowly from one day into the next.

I feel like I’ve had a week long rendezvous with myself.

You know how it is. Like a new lover, you get all wrapped up in these moments that slip from one into the next. Everything feels good or better.

I’m being selfish with all of me, because I can be. I have to keep reminding myself that there’s some other world existing outside of my insides.

I have gotten through the first week and I’m not falling to pieces. There was a time during my sobriety when more time and less to do with it terrified me. I couldn’t think of enough distractions to put me out of my sober misery.

Now, I’m enjoying the child-like wonder I get to greet each new day with. I’m in constant curiosity about what old things I could still enjoy and new things I can learn to enjoy.

It’s a blessing to be given the space to stretch out.

Most days I wake up before the sun and stay awake long after she’s set to allow time to wash over me while I enjoy every drop of myself.

This here is a slow, easeful love.