Day ???
Eve
I no longer keep track of how long it’s been.
Our phones could tell us what day it is, I guess, but there’s not really a reason to charge them anymore, since the internet no longer works; and time, at least the way we measure it, was always a made-up thing anyway. It doesn’t have any true meaning.
Doing all this labor around the house makes my mind wander, though. It’s a silly reason to open the journal and write after so long, but I had this thought and wanted to jot it down.
I keep track of the passing weeks, and at the end of each seven-day cycle, I make sure to let Adam know it’s rest day.
Our new Sunday, so to speak. We allow ourselves to wake up late—not with the sunrise, like any other morning—and take a slow, lazy day, all to ourselves.
We usually spend it in bed, or outside if the weather is nice.
He brings me flowers if there are any and I try to cook something he likes.
And as I was cleaning yesterday, I realized that even though I have no way of knowing what day it actually is, Adam reminds me of Sunday mornings.
He’s that late awakening, the warmth that clings to our sheets.
He’s rough hands that finally rest after the hard work they’ve done the entire week.
He’s a hot morning coffee, the taste of it blending with his last night’s whiskey.
Coffee and whiskey and warmth on a Sunday morning. That’s my Adam.
I’m more of a Wednesday night, I think. A late night, a three a.m. when you have somewhere to be the following morning but can’t fall asleep.
A dew that’s already forming on the grass and trees outside.
My mind is still restless most of the time; there’s always something to be done, like storm clouds overhead that haven’t started pouring yet.
Maybe that’s why we work so well together.