Part of my Sunday was a success. I spoke with my dear friend, and felt the longing that accompanies our weekly chats. I long for days of wine al fresco. I long for the feeling of home that can only accompany the sound of dear friends laughing as they revel in youth filled gaiety. I long for the passionate intimacy of our collegiate journey. I long for the guiltless, esoteric, excess of soul-searching melodrama.
Part of my Sunday was failure. I chose my Saturday night over His Sunday morning. I let myself down there.
I can't speak to Sunday's failure, but this is what I say to it's success: YA-YA! I miss the West Bank (and you!), too!
ReplyDelete