A Sunday Letter With Nowhere to Rush

This public romantic reading imagines a Sunday shared by two people who enjoy an unhurried day. There are no private messages or live participants on this page.

The unplanned morning

We have not made a plan, which feels like a plan of its own. The bread is on the table, the radio is low, and neither of us knows quite where the other left the newspaper. Outside, someone is already doing something industrious with a ladder. We wish them well from a comfortable distance.

I like that you take your time choosing the jam, as though it deserves proper consideration. I like having a morning in which a question that small can be the most pressing one.

A walk that becomes a story

Later we go out for one thing and come back with three. The market has flowers we do not buy and fruit we probably should have bought more of. You stop to read a poster. I pretend to know a shortcut. The shortcut turns out to be a perfectly ordinary long way round.

Nothing has happened that would make a dramatic photograph. Yet this is the part of the imagined day I would keep: the ease of walking beside someone without needing to turn the walk into an achievement.

Before Monday

By evening, the bags are unpacked and the week is beginning to make small noises at the edge of our thoughts. We write down what needs doing. Then we put the list away.

There is still a little Sunday left. Enough for another cup, half a chapter, or the song you wanted me to hear. This letter stays there, in the remaining light, with its shoes by the door.

A note about this reading

This is a fictional slice of life, published as creative reading for all visitors.