We lay around all weekend, wrapped in a doona on the couch watching the Sunday programs, pillows puffed up, stacked against the bedhead. We patted each other’s head, we ate crimson grapes from a glass bowl, we drank juice from ridiculously large glasses, we cooked food we adored.
I wondered what all the single people were doing? On their own?
Matt lay next to me and slept most of the way through it, the weekend, that is, without his knickers on. That was when he wasn't patting my head, or feeding me grapes, or cooking me food. Or when I wasn’t holding him in my arms. His breathing like a heartbeat, rhythmic, life reassuring. Calming, like patting a cat, or hugging your dog.
Go, go, go. Drift. Float.
Sometimes life is just this simple. We don’t have to make it any more complicated than this? It is all it needs to be.
A doona pulled over the two of you. Nothing to do for the rest of the day. Eat. Drink.
Ah. Stretch.
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