It’s always great to wake up next to you in bed. Our bed.
Your messy hair and warm skin are two of my favorite things in the world.
Banana pancakes. Like the song.
We’re having banana pancakes on a rainy Sunday morning. Life is good.
We’re still in our pajamas and by pajamas I mean underwear.
The apartment is cozy. But I now realize that is us that make it warm. We can finally call this place home. And if in a couple of year we move to the suburbs, after having kids, like we have discussed, and leave this apartment behind, and get a house with a big yard, then that will be home. Because home is anywhere we are. As long as we’re together.
You finish the pancakes and tell me about how you feel like doing nothing. Nothing is good. Specially on a rainy Sunday.
Things we usually do on a sunny Sunday don’t apply to rainy ones. We won’t even change our clothes the entire day. We might have 2 breakfasts and a couple dinners. There’s no rules. Specially on a rainy Sunday.
I used to loathe Sundays. Sunny or rainy. I don’t anymore. I don’t since I found you. Now, I wait for Sundays the whole week. Specially rainy Sundays.