A Sunday

We wake up too early for a Sunday. The sun is finding it’s way through the blinds and you kiss me before I’ve even opened my eyes. The room is chilly and as I curl up next to your warm body you put your arms around me. I close my eyes and doze off in a light sleep while you play with my hair. I don’t want to move from here, just stay and let the world spin on without us. Eventually we do get out of bed to brew a pot of coffee in the quiet kitchen. All of your roommates are asleep so we try to be as quiet as possible. I observe you when you reach for the filter and measure the coffee. Your shoulders are broad and your hair is messy and I can’t help but go up and kiss you.

We drink the coffee in bed as we're telling each other stories from when we were teenagers, slowly getting to know each other. I ask about your scar on your collarbone and you tell me how you were in a motorbike accident and that parts of the bone now has to be held together by a metal cover. You ask me about the ones on my knees, but they’re just there from when I constantly fell as a kid. You laugh when I tell you how I fell on my scooter and asked my dad if I was dying only cause my knee was bleeding so bad.

You attack me with kisses for no reason and I giggle like a girl in a cheesy romantic comedy, but I can’t help it. I like how you look at me, how you count the freckles on my thighs and how you let me borrow your sweatpants when we go up on the roof to smoke a cigarette. The sun is shining and it’s chilly, but we find a spot away from the wind where we finish our coffee and make out in between the sips. I lean on your shoulder and fall asleep for a while as the sun warms up my face. We complain a little bit about the work we’re not doing, but then let it go as we both know there is no way we’re working today.

The hours pass and we go to the store to get breakfast for us and your roommates. You cook and we all eat till we could throw up. We hang out on the roof, burning our skin and laughing about anything anyone says. Your hand doesn’t leave my leg till we all leave to get dinner at the pizza place around the corner. We order a pitcher and two pies and watch the Nets game that’s on. No one really says anything. We’re all tired hungover and hungry. But under the table we hold hands and you stroke the top of my hand and I can’t really focus on anything else anyways.