Another Sunday Morning

As a yawn engulfs my body and eventuates into a cat stretch, I stare out the window and take a moment to appreciate another day awakening. Nothing but the sound of rain going pitter patter on the roof top, a Tui skimming over the puddles on the deck and the trees swaying over the waters edge below. Pulling back the covers, I slink out of bed and trudge over to the chair where I’d thrown my cardigan. I pull it over my head, too lazy to undo the buttons then make my way to the loo. After a considerably long pee, I realise I’m missing underwear on my body… oh the joys of sleeping naked, it becomes such a simple luxury to continue prancing around this way all morning long, ‘especially on a Sunday’, I think to myself as I slide the lace black g-string up my body.

Standing in the mirror whilst brushing my teeth, I observe a few new spots that I certainly did not offer such prime realestate to. ‘Friday’s easter bunny is the culprit’. I run a hand through my hair, noticing the salt from last night’s surf. A shower is calling my name, yet I’m not ready for that reset yet, no no, I’m going to waltz my way through this slow Sunday morning, blissfully ignorant to the dishevelled nature of my weekend energy.

I just bought a new vinyl player, taking far too much pride in its existence I put on Antônio Carlos Jobim and skip straight to ‘the girl from Ipanema’. I close my eyes and start swaying, slowly taking my groove into the kitchen, adding a little spin and grabbing the coffee carton. “I fucking love Sundays!” I say to the imaginary man in front of me. As the coffee brews away in the background, I open up the sliding doors and take in the fresh morning air. There’s a crispness that set’s off my goosebumps, yet it might have more to do with the man I’ve got on my mind, than it does the crisp Autumn air…

I smile at the thoughts living rent free in my mind, oh the joy of being in love, the feeling that travels from my mind into my tummy and somehow into my womb. Like someone has just watered me as they would their garden, and I’m blossoming as the water feeds my thirst. The percolator starts chiming away over the stove, the sweet smell of coffee filling the kitchen. My nose follows, grabbing out my favourite mug and pouring myself the perfectly brewed black coffee goodness. ‘Nectar of the gods’ I used to call it back in the day’s of business ownership, the thought makes me giggle a little… What a lifetime ago that feels like. I wrap my hands around the mug heating them up as I cosy into the chair. ‘I’m wet, how sweet!’ I think and giggle once again.

Another cold breeze sweeps it way across the deck and into the doors as I wrap a blanket around my half naked body. This is perfect, completely and utterly perfect… Even the wildflowers I’d collected from the farmers market seem to be dancing this morning. How it all comes together, the sweet melody of Portuguese jazz, the smell of coffee, my bare skin wrapped in warmth and the fresh morning rain dancing outside the house. I open my Moleskin to the next free page and start writing away.

“Do you write everyday?” He’d asked,

“Well yes, I certainly try to”,

“How do you find the time?”

“Haha, well how do you find the time to brush your teeth?” I laugh in response,

“You cheeky little munchkin you. Yes, smarty pants, I hear you” He responds whilst picking me up and placing me on top of the counter.

My pen doesn’t take long to find its rhythm. I write about the importance of romance, the little moments that dance around the room all day building tension and pulling you together. ‘How I hated my inability to continue this play with my ex’ I begin thinking. Was it true that 7+ years together can kill the romance? I don’t choose to believe that… It was me, I know that much. I hate to admit these thoughts, but the importance of recognizing them and taking responsibility is a mandatory part of moving forward.

I think of his eyes and the way they used to watch over me. His hands and the way they held me. I don’t miss it, strangely enough, yet it hurts to think of all the times I declined him, my mind had been so heavy with stress and self-judgement, as if I was somehow unworthy of his sexual praise. Ugh, horrible thoughts Tessa. I continue writing all the way’s in which I’ve progressed since those times, attempting to hold little criticism toward myself and a bit more compassion for the girl who was, well… rather broken. Not his fault, I hope he knows that.

Gosh, all 3 of my most formative partners had left me and rebounded onto someone younger. I’ve never realized this until now, how incredibly confronting! ‘Am I that boring?’ I ask myself… ‘Maybe my pussy’s not tight enough hahaha! No, joking, I don’t think so’… I laugh to myself nervously. I find little safety or warmth in the thought of him these days, unlike the way I used to. A rather stark contrast to the man I’ve now met, who can wrap me up in his warmth on harder days without even touching my body at all.

I stand up and walk back onto the deck as I feel a pinch of anxiety come over me, and start watching the rain land on the water below. Lighting up a cigarette, I think to myself ‘atleast now, I know I’ll never be that sick again… Fucking chronic fatigue my ass.’ I exhale out the smoke.

A dove lands on the balustrade. I put my free hand out as it slowly edges along curiously before jumping onto my extended finger and looking up at me. I giggle, “well hello little one, you’re rather pretty don’t you think?” I say as if it could respond. The lady in the house through the trees loves feeding the birds, and it works in my favour as these doves attempt to get treats off me too. On they odd occasion, I feed them pumpkin seeds, but they’re rather chubby already so I restrain myself most of the time. The dove opens it’s wings and soars away as the rain begins to pound harder. I look down at my bare legs and lace g-string in amusement, before finishing my cigarette and waltzing back inside.

I prance into the bathroom, turn on the shower and unbutton the cardigan. I stare at myself in the full length mirror, slowly running a hand over my collarbone, across my breasts and down my abdomen. Eventually, my hand finds it’s way up to my mouth and I bite down on my finger as my head tilts to one side. ‘I wonder how they view me’, I ponder… Forgetting the thought instantly, I step into the open shower and let it’s double head pressure massage down onto my body. I look at the steam clouding over the wall tiles and draw a little smiley face. ‘It’s truly the little things’ I think to myself and smile as the music bellows in from the kitchen. Yet another Sunday morning, as life goes on, moving through it’s routinely wave of emotions and regularity.