sunday morning
Lisa Toboz

It’s Sunday morning. You don’t exactly leap out of bed, because it is Sunday and there is nothing compelling you to take that leap into the day. There’s no need to jolt yourself awake, sit bolt upright as you try to remember where you put your phone so you can silence that alarm. There is no alarm.

You’re on your own. On other days you might miss the warmth of the body who should be in the bed beside you, who would wake you with a kiss and smile and then disappear to the kitchen and return with coffee and sourdough toast. But today you don’t mind that you’re alone – you’ve looked forward to this moment, this being-alone-moment. This solitude.

You get up, position the camera, set up the self-timer and leap back into bed. You whisper something to the camera just before the shutter clicks. You smile as you realise that no living soul heard the words you used. You jump up again to rescue the shot.

You don’t stop to wonder how chemicals and emulsions could make you this happy. Because you are happy that Polaroid week has come round again so soon, and you show it with a little sideways smile.

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