Sundays

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Sundays, sweet Sundays. The morning was very, very slow and I was grateful. I knitted. I read. I watched movies. I attempted to nap. Cynical went through some boxes of memories. We found letters, childhood toys, special notes and I could see the excitement on his face. We’ve been together long enough to have our own history, our own life together and I don’t think I’d sat and contemplated that until then.

Eventually we pulled ourselves out of the house and visited his sister, her husband and their two girls. So much fun to watch the eight-year-old entertain us with her wit. So adorable to watch the little one skirt around the room, rolling on her belly.

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