Sunday Is a Time Capsule

Sunday is a time capsule.

The air is still,

Lavender cleaning solution freshens up our broken into home.

Like your oldest running shoes;

There is comfort here.

Signs of laughter litter the hallways.

Underwear from the night before lie in the bathroom.

Bottles lay askew,

Shared in the hands of brothers.

A fleeting memory you can only lightly grasp.

We bounce around,

Never leaving the walls that hold so much solace.

Detailing the dirty walls,

Straightening shifted paintings,

Priming our place of peace.

We clear our minds as we clear away dirty plates.

Covered with the creations of my friend, the chef.

We are all creators here.

Our oasis, a tiny universe.

Molded by our bare hands.

We all choose to be shaped by serenity.

Breathe energy so we may be powerful.

Give joy so we may receive peace.

In the kiss of the Sunday sun,

We discuss how we will walk in the world;

How to hold ourselves and

How to help others.

We patch our cuts,

Fix our wounds.

Nostalgia haunts the corners of our minds,

As we sit and dread

How it's not going to be Sunday soon.