You have always felt like a soft Sunday morning.
Like waking up to the nightingale’s melody
Wafting in through the branches of the fruit laden mango tree.
Like gentle sunlight filtering through the threads
And making check marks on an unmade bed.
Like riveting conversations about books and music
Over cups of steaming hot coffee and apple pancakes with sweet maple syrup.
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Loving you always felt like a soft Sunday morning.
Like holding hands on the soft grass in the backyard
While a soft breeze blows petals in our face.
Like being able to be ourselves without any judgemental eyes
On how we choose to wear our curly hair.
Like cuddling on the couch with our books
Knowing that we have nothing to do all day.
-Armaan
Photo by Jason Abdilla on Unsplash