Dear Diary,

This morning I woke up restless, to the soft sound of rain. Carefully I unwrapped myself from around my lover, marveling at how easy this has become, to sleep so close to him.

I, who historically has preferred to sleep alone and untouched.

I remember waking up near 4 a.m. and seeing him working at his computer. With the time change, it was only 9 now. It would be hours before I could wake him with a clear conscience.
Instead I decided to go a wandering, through the rainy streets of Sacramento, with tangled hair, a novel borrowed from his bookshelf, and an expectant sense of adventure.
Eventually I ended up at Old Soul, in the alley by L Street. I settled in with coffee and an English muffin, happily browsing through a story I had read before.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted.
I looked up, dreamy-eyed and still entangled with the mystery of Henry and the woes of Clare.
“What is that?” a man asked me, a florid-looking chap about my age with spiky ginger hair, dressed in a green Henley and expensive jeans.
“Oh, it’s very good,” I replied, turning the cover towards him so he could read the title.
“No, I mean what is it,” he asked again, with a sort of half-smirk upon his thin lips.
I blinked–once, twice, then again.
“It’s…a book…?” I answered slowly, my eyes edging back to my open page.
The man laughed, heartily forced. “Yes! Of course! I just meant most people read these things!” and he waved his cell phone near my face.
I smiled, perfunctorily polite.
He looked down, perhaps embarrassed. Gulping down his coffee he stood up and left abruptly.
It occurred to me that I have forgotten how to flirt with strangers.
But then again, why would I want to? In a few hours I will meander back to bed, to kiss his naked shoulder and entice him awake with slow strokes and sultry suggestions whispered in his ear.

Really, why would I want anyone else?

Content, I returned to reading, sipping my mocha and enjoying my Sunday morning.

I hope yours is lovely, too!