it was a sunday
12:27 p.m.

Dear C,

When I wake up on a Sunday morning like this, I can't help but think of you. No, I did not go to church this morning, but the day --- and every day --- is blessed by the Lord just the same.

Yet on a Sunday morning --- His day of rest --- there is a peacefulness that allows my idle mind to circulate into thoughts of longing. Here I stand, doing the dishes. Here I sit, reading my paper. And there I go, to take the trash outside. And maybe I'll watch a movie or two, or maybe I'll forget the movie altogether and listen to the wind and the sounds of distant traffic. These are all the best things to do on a Sunday.

And yet I think of you. I think of you as I do these things that keep me busy physically, but mentally, I'm longing for you to be there. I'm longing for you to spend a Sunday with me, though I know it can never be. And I wish I could stop writing about you. I wish I didn't have to make such vague references to you to protect and mask my true feelings and your reputation. I wish I hadn't ruined our friendship with my silly longing.

I love you always.

P

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