only the wakeless and the sleepless are here... in between time, bereft and forfeited.
That's my poetic way of saying: Where the HELL is everyone?
Sundays are for mending and for sleeping late, for coffee and donuts and maybe pancakes if you don't wake up too late. It's for music that hums and for cleaning those things you never want to clean. It's for fresh laundry and warm socks and melting into the afternoon sun.
Sunday's get me excited.