On being someone's Sunday of life. Someone so important and yet so unwanted. Someone so desirable yet someone they used to know.
A rather confusing topic for many maybe. But then, I'm cool like that.
For all the times that I've known, mostly after joining job, Sunday is the most ambiguous day for me. Sure it starts with an early (by Sunday standards) call from home, and then from the roommate (who would diligently get breakfast for all) and I sleep more, and some more. There is this ultimatum about Sunday when we don't want to wake up because we know the moment it starts, it will end. By the time it is evening and we realize the day has not even started properly for it to end, it is Goodnight time.
So that is the thing about Sunday. We love it with a melancholy. Knowing that it has to end and it will. So we happily wait for it and step on it sadly. It is graceful poignancy with cheap greed.
Sunday is like the first love of your life whom you love with all your heart and will always do, but it will go, just because it has to go. Like your annual one week vacation to the country for which you wait but you don't want it to come, for it will go as soon as it comes. Like the sea that you love so dear but you can't keep on walking inwards forever, for your own good. Like me. Like you.
So are the rest of the days bad? So do you love Sunday the most? No, absolutely not. But there is this sense of belonging, wanting, losing, helplessness, greyness about Sunday. Maybe that's what makes it so important.
So? Who's the Sunday of your life? And how does it feel to be one?
A rather confusing topic for many maybe. But then, I'm cool like that.
For all the times that I've known, mostly after joining job, Sunday is the most ambiguous day for me. Sure it starts with an early (by Sunday standards) call from home, and then from the roommate (who would diligently get breakfast for all) and I sleep more, and some more. There is this ultimatum about Sunday when we don't want to wake up because we know the moment it starts, it will end. By the time it is evening and we realize the day has not even started properly for it to end, it is Goodnight time.
So that is the thing about Sunday. We love it with a melancholy. Knowing that it has to end and it will. So we happily wait for it and step on it sadly. It is graceful poignancy with cheap greed.
Sunday is like the first love of your life whom you love with all your heart and will always do, but it will go, just because it has to go. Like your annual one week vacation to the country for which you wait but you don't want it to come, for it will go as soon as it comes. Like the sea that you love so dear but you can't keep on walking inwards forever, for your own good. Like me. Like you.
So are the rest of the days bad? So do you love Sunday the most? No, absolutely not. But there is this sense of belonging, wanting, losing, helplessness, greyness about Sunday. Maybe that's what makes it so important.
So? Who's the Sunday of your life? And how does it feel to be one?
2 comments:
Loved it.. so true.. Sundays..❤
Time to write a book baby doll. We are all set to attend its inauguration😍
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