Waking up with the heaviness of his arm resting over your waist. Emerging from the entanglement of limbs under the duvet. Feeling the warmth of his stomach tickling your lower back. Turning around to brush away the crustiness from his eyes. Kissing the smile that plays lazily on his lips. Exchanging each other’s morning breath. Nudging him to get out of bed for breakfast. Failing miserably. Lying beside him tracing the outline of his jaw. Falling back to sleep in his arms.
That’s how I’d like to wake up every Sunday morning.