When I say Sunday, you think…?
Football?
Nope.
Fun-day?
Kinda.
Dinner?
Getting warmer.
Church?
Yep.
I don’t praise Sunday enough.
I mean I do, to his face, or on my knees almost every Sunday. Or more recently into the pillow or blankets on the memory foam bed. But he can hear me, he is close, behind.
We go to amazing restaurants, have grown up conversations, offer advice on each other’s respective businesses. It’s my day to Adult. I need it, want it, crave it, and him. He knows the difference between when I say ‘I’m hungry’ and when I say ‘I’m hungry.’ He knows I am sex-eater and he enjoys it and me. Just as much as he enjoys watching me smile and roll my eyes in bliss at some tasty tidbit of food.
2 dedicated blog posts. Sunday Sex Selfies and The Cold Open. So many honorable mentions, 100 metaphors for him, I called him my favorite hat, my safety net. Hardly seems fair when he is my Sunday hat, my Sunday best and not just the net that catches me when I am walking the tightrope, but the bar that keeps my balance. He has also set the bar and held it.
That feeling of being ‘allowed’. Allowed to be strong, to be weak, to say what I feel, always. He does this. Even when it’s something he doesn’t want to hear.
On paper I have been single for, good god. A long while now. 2011ish.
In my heart, it’s been just over 2 years, longer. 3, heart says 3.
Wait, lie detector determined that is a lie. There were 2 men I wanted to belong to but it didn’t work out, single status remained intact, but only on paper.
Belonging. That is the key word.
Sunday’s belong to Sunday. Have for a while now. I cannot call it habit, habits take 3 weeks to break. I have broken it off with him for longer than that, more than once. I can stop if I want to. But I don’t want to.
I have left him. Said the words ‘I’m dating someone and I want to see where it goes’.
I tell the men I date about him. ‘There is a man whom I have been seeing every Sunday for a while. He knows about you and now you know about him. I don’t feel safe enough to give him up just yet. I’ll let you know if anything changes.’ They tried to mock him when I explained why only Sunday’s. We have tried to see each other more, but it just doesn’t work. “How could anyone want to see YOU only once a week?” they say, I feel safe for a bit, leave Sunday and then they leave me.
So I have come back, tail between my legs, crying on the phone when I get hurt. He gives me stoic advice and just opens the door when I knock. Picks me up and brushes the dirt off my knees, kisses my forehead like I never went away.
When I fall, he catches me. No questions asked. And I fall, it’s kinda my thing.
This isn’t going to be one of those movies where the girl realises she loved him all along. I already know I do. But it’s different, it’s not ‘I gotta lock that down’ love, its friendship and acceptance with some primordial lust thrown in.
It’s Sunday, if anyone needs me…don’t. On the seventh day I rest.
