Chasing Sundays.

Sundays are my favorite days. And on this Sunday, waking up from a nap Mari and I decided to meet for wine (her) food (me) and to catch-up. Driving home I felt as if the conversation was exactly what I’d been needing, albeit unknowingly.
What I took from it was an ease. Coming off a weekend spent with a dear friend I was struck with the organic-ness of my favorite relationships. How I slip from group to group in and out from people who are all so different, and yet, all feel like rooms within the home of my heart.

I told Mari that I was no longer willing to online date. Because I was in a place where I just want to be myself. If I were to slip into something as seamlessly as I had my friendships I was open to that. But I was done trying to make pieces fit. I felt so at peace with that decision. Not because I hate men or am exhausted or anything like that, but because it felt right. I trust that if and when it is supposed to happen, it will. And then I let go of that balloon.

Arriving back to my place I couldn’t wait to write. A feeling that had been missing for a week. That desire to scribe. I was not sure where the itch had run off too and yet I never feared that it would return. Again, trust. Settled down in bed underneath blankets and atop pillows I simmered. Rolling a Taylor Swift song across my tongue: rain came pouring down when I was drowning that’s when I could finally breathe. And that morning gone was any trace of you, I think I’m finally clean.

I think I am. Clean, that is. Not of any one thing but maybe of a lot of things. Past relationships. The stories I told myself about those relationships. The stories I told myself about my self about those relationships….washed clean. Instead I was left bare and draped in resolved not to hide.

Mari brought up hope. And her affinity particularly for specific hope. I think for me, I remain hopeful that I will always have what I need when I need it. That for provision, protection, and people I have already been considered and accounted for. So I can let go. And I can sit back and enjoy my Sunday. My day where my soul is the priority. My day when I listen. My day when all is muted yet colors are brighter smells are sweeter and touch more sensational than ever. Every other day is simply time in between chasing Sundays.


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