Last Sunday
The day began like any other, with the soft glow of sunlight filtering through my curtains. I stretched lazily in bed, listening to the distant hum of birds chirping outside. It was last Sunday, and I had no pressing plans—just a quiet morning ahead.
After a simple breakfast of toast and tea, I decided to take a walk. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass from the park nearby. As I strolled along the path, I noticed how vibrant everything seemed under the clear blue sky. A group of children laughed and played soccer on the field, their energy infectious. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
Later, I met an old friend whom I hadn’t seen in years. We sat by the lake, reminiscing about our school days. She told me stories of her travels abroad, while I shared tales of my recent adventures closer to home. Time flew by as we caught up, and before long, the sun began its descent.
On my way back, I stopped at a small bookstore tucked away in a corner of the neighborhood. Browsing through the shelves, I found a book that caught my eye—a mystery novel with a compelling cover. It wasn’t something I would usually pick, but curiosity got the better of me. I bought it and promised myself I’d read it that evening.
As dusk settled in, I returned home, tired yet content. Last Sunday wasn’t extraordinary in any grand sense, but it felt perfect just the way it was—a mix of solitude, connection, and discovery. Sometimes, those are the best kind of days.
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