Sunday.

As was usual, he had come to sit in his local coffee shop and write. It was Sunday, and the conditions were perfect – it was relatively quiet, and it was a beautiful day. He ordered his coffee and a slice of cake – ginger this time, as they didn’t have his favourite – and sat down at his usual table. It was the prime location to see people coming and going, as well as being able to gaze out of the window at his leisure.

As was usual, he didn’t get straight into writing. He unpacked his laptop, spoke with the girls behind the counter, daydreamed of walking through the local forest on a day like today. He finished the coffee and debated ordering another, but decided to give it a few minutes. He didn’t usually drink much of the stuff, but two in quick succession was normal to rouse him from the sleep-deprived funk he was coming to accept as part of who he was now.

As was usual, he’d gone to bed late because of an overactive brain. Four in the morning had become the absolute earliest he’d finally find himself drifting off at. Today was no different, he’d gone to bed at roughly seven a.m., and woken up late morning after a few hours of broken sleep.

.

As was not usual, he wasn’t unhappy in the slightest at his lack of sleep. Sure, he would be groggy for a time, but it was Sunday and it wasn’t as if he had anything important to do with his day off. In fact, he generally despised weekends. 

As was not usual, he had spent his Saturday night talking to someone wonderful on the other side of the world. Instead of hearing people over the road at the pub having fun, cursing the fact that his life seemed to suck, he’d had the most meaningful conversation he’d had with someone in a long time. With someone who seemed to actually get who he was for once.

As was not usual, he didn’t mind if all his nights were sleepless from now on.

Her words made everything worth it.