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Each Sunday Morning

The sleeves of my shirt hang down over my fingertips. The Sunday morning sun coming through the window with the flowery curtains. A gentle breeze opens these curtains as I watch myself in the mirror. I yawn as the dreams from last night become foggy images. Soon I’ll be sitting on a wooden pew somewhere between awake and asleep. I’ll have short dreams when I succumb.

I stare into the mirror as the sounds of outside become softer to me. I think of the many prayers I have prayed. The time to leave is approaching as I wonder about all of that time spent caught between dream and awake. This morning, each week, I leave the dreams of my bed to the dreams of a hard wooden pew.


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