Sunday mornings

I sat beside him long ago when the brush of his sleeve against mine sent fire all down my body.

I sat beside him hundreds of times when his arm was solid and comforting against my own.

I sat beside him when there was such pain between us I shied away from the softest touch of his coat.

I hope to sit beside him when we are old, when his shoulder is no longer distinct from mine, but we are sitting there together melded without thinking into one.

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Bethany
10 years ago

Exactly.

10 years ago

I…LOVE…THIS!! I hope to no longer look on something so ordinary as something just “ordinary”.

Treva
10 years ago

This is perfect.

Carla
10 years ago

Just beautiful!

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