sunday mornings.

A ritual that slowly started before we left Vancouver has become an anticipated activity once we moved to Europe and found a routine. Sunday morning; the morning reserved for lingering in bed for as long as possible. When the first light creeps through our curtains and stirs us awake I usually feel him move first, in which he turns and notices me there, eyes closed. I feel him reach across the bed towards me and finds my bare back. His fingers trail along the outline of my body before it rests along the outside of my thigh. At this point he pulls me closer to him so that my back is pressed tightly against his chest. We lay there for some time just enjoying the quiet of the morning and listening to the other breathe. We can stay in this place for hours and love the feeling of our skin against each other under our duvet.

When we start to get hungry we slip into the shower where water is mixed with soap and our bodies. Again we linger in our small shower where the steam fills the bathroom that we can hardly see past the glass door. Eventually we tumble out and wrap ourselves in white cotton towels, the smell of fresh linen engulfs us. While I continue to get ready he enters our kitchen to begin preparing our breakfast. After I’ve adorned myself with comfortable yet stylish clothing I put on our favourite Sunday morning music – soft French ballads. The sounds drift from the speakers and surround our home while we work together in our large kitchen.

Sunday morning breakfast is usually filled with steaming foaming lattes, warm buttery croissants, and a soft boiled egg. We chat easily over our breakfast and flirt by teasing each other before reaching out across our white table to hold the other’s hands. Something about lingering in our white sheets, enjoying a long hot shower together, preparing a simple yet healthy breakfast, and having the French language fill our home makes us long for each Sunday morning.

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