I reminisce of younger Sundays, early mornings would send me to church and afternoons were met with seven colours.
The preaching man would preach, the congregation would respond with moans of moderate understanding.
The choir would rejoice, the holy spirit would enter the heart of sinners and escape through holy pandemonium.
The drive home was far too long compared to the drive towards, but the anticipation was met with brunch.
A seven colour feasts to honour the Sabbath, however these days I honour the day as so did the creator.
I reminisce of younger Sundays, when time moved swiftly and I had no idea of the extant of my depression.
