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The Sunday Sads.

Sundays were made for lazing in bed.

Pancakes for breakfast and tummy scratches.

The farmer's market and taking your time,

to lay in the grass, to soak in the sunshine, to listen to kids playing in the park.


Some Sundays are made for football,

while others are made for brunch.

Micheladas and mimosas,

overflowing plates of nachos and dainty deviled eggs with caviar on top.


Sundays were made for the girls,

Sharing stories of the night before.

Healing hangovers with more of what caused them.

Mani pedis and iced lattes.

Sundays were made for making the house a home.

Watering the plants and deep cleaning the bathroom,

Cooking up a storm and freshly washed sheets.

Lavender and linens.


Still, Sundays were also made for the sads.

After the laughter and after the sun goes down,

and after the voids are filled with even more emptiness.

After you wash away the weekend from your hands,

and the stillness of the night swallows you whole.

Because above all things,

Sundays were made for me and you.

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