I awoke as he rolled over and pulled me close to him. He murmured softly, his head heavy against my chest. I stayed as still as possible, not wanting to disturb this rare moment of affection. My eyes remained closed and I listened to the birds outside, sensed the mid-morning sun filling the room. I imagined the newspaper neglected on the porch and thought, “This is the way Sundays should begin.”
That night he told me all about The One Girl, his first love. The one before me. He spoke about her ways, her dreams, her promises.
“We used to nap together on Sundays. I remember all of it, but Sundays are the most vivid. I can almost smell her hair, feel her skin.”
His eyes were far away from me. I could stop hiding my tears.
“I dreamt about her this morning.”
– Brianna Privett

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