The kind of weekend...

It was the kind of weekend where sleepy mornings turned over to a cup of coffee. Or two. Then three and four. Where a moody sky reached out to the cool morning air - meeting in the middle for a spectacular public display of affection. Where the same conversation I keep having in my head tried to find its way out of my mouth but the path of least resistance led to my tear ducts instead. Where dreams of never ending tunnels and teething babies left me with the distinct feeling that I'm forgetting something. It was the kind of weekend where moments of still surrender were punctuated with a sense of urgency that comes from a constant craving for uncertainty ... or perhaps the four cups of coffee in one sitting could be the culprit. It was the kind of weekend where nothing felt quite right but everything couldn't be more perfect.