He’s back. After a month apart, D is snoring gently (read: quite loudly) on my sofa, while I curl up in the arm chair, quietly watching The Crown. I have butternut squash and carrots roasting in the oven with za’atar and sumac and garlic, ready to be blitzed into soup when he wakes.
As he dozes, he has sleepily reached out for me. For a while, I joined him on the sofa, our arms and legs tangled together, my head tucked under his chin, breathing in unison. I’ve missed this the most- the number of times I reached for him while half asleep in the last month is astonishing, really, given that we don’t live together- and I’m glad that we’ve been able to spend the morning in this way.
Later, we may stroll around the Common, and go for a quiet Sunday drink in the pub. Or we may stay here, chattering on the sofa about everything that has happened during his time away. Or perhaps a combination of the two. I’ll wait until he wakes to decide.
I love Sundays. The gentleness, calm, and softness of the day is something I treasure more than anything. After a busy Saturday marching for the rights threatened by the new President, I’ve needed a contemplative day. I’m been considering what I can do next, what our next move should be. But above all, I’ve enjoyed the space I’ve afforded myself today, and the company I’ve had while I do this.
I’ve missed him terribly. More than I thought I would. But having a whole, lazy day just for us, seems to be the balm I have needed, and just the time we have needed to recoup. The cool air, the beautiful sunshine, the quiet calm- today, I have everything I need.