Behind the closed wooden door, he has the music playing as he soaks in the bath. Soft ambient sounds pulsing through the steamy air. I hear the water move when he moves and imagine his ocean blue eyes closed against the lavender heat.
I pour a second cup of dark roast coffee and read through some of my old poetry. Even though I recognize it, there are pieces that still manage to catch me off guard with their honesty. I understand why some actors never watch themselves on the big screen. It can be jarring to see yourself up so close. To observe the patterns and lines and curves of your own strange textures.
Sunday mornings are peaceful because we are lazy and cozy and naked. Make love for hours as the summery lilac breeze sifts in through the open bedroom windows and caresses our smooth bodies. It is all hazy glow and porcelain skin. Messy hair, wet open mouths. Seduction. Submission to desire, lust, pleasure. He sleeps heavy after. Always does.
Later we will swim. He will bring me chilled wine and I will thank him for it as if I owe him my life. Maybe, in truth, I do. Now R.E.M. is playing behind the closed door. The bath water moves again when he does. Losing my religion. I left religion behind a long time ago myself. I don’t make sacrifices anymore but I still remember a handful of the feast days. August 15th is the Assumption, for instance. The Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.
I never had any issues with Mary only with the way they treated her. I don’t starve myself or hate myself the way I used to back when I was a girl learning about all the things girls were bad at and bad for. Now I’m grown. I live my life the way I want which is not to say it’s right but only that it’s what I want.
You can surprise yourself when you come face to face with what you want. You may find that you thought you wanted something else, something better for you, or worse. You find yourself doing a thing repeatedly and you realize that if you keep choosing it, good or bad, it must be what you want.
We still sabotage plenty of our own chances at happiness about a thousand times in any given week. But on Sundays… on Sundays, every single thing we do is just so goddamn sweet.