Ode to a Sunday nap

Oh, Sunday nap, how you elude me. I yearn for your soft embrace, yet you stay just out of reach. The few times that we have hooked up it has been a blissful union, and I miss those halcyon days. Those moments are burned into my mind; the soft pillow, the muted sunlight, the heaviness of limbs melting into a stretch. The feeling of oneness and contentment with the universe, of worries floating away, of guilt dissipating into the atmosphere. How I long for you, oh Sunday nap.

You appeared at my door this morning as I blearily stumbled through a pot of coffee, with a coy smile and a beckoning hand. You whispered of drowsy sweetness, of daydreams turned pleasant dreams, of a body drooping with heaviness into the sofa cushions. I reached out to you with a trembling hand, and our fingertips brushed briefly, like a soft butterfly kiss. You winked and murmured that you would be here for me, that you would wait…but only a short while.

I moved through the morning, through the early afternoon, trying to set a few things to rights so that I could settle into your arms. Occasionally I’d look over at you with yearning eyes, lounging peacefully on the couch, and quietly curse the to-do items keeping us apart. The active children, the messy kitchen, the never-ending laundry…all conspired to keep us apart. I tried, oh Sunday nap, how I tried!

And then I looked over and you were gone. The lateness of the hour told the story. You had left me, not to return for another week. Know that I love you, Sunday nap, that there is no one else for me. I will do better in seven days, I promise. Please don’t forsake me, return to my arms, bring me the sweet release I so desperately need.

I will sink into your arms next week, Sunday nap, for our long-desired union.