Sundays' 3 O'clock

There is a certain unexplainable calmness that Sundays' 3 o'clock bring with them. It is the silence that I realise has been there for quite some time after the faithful church goers who congregate at the church behind my bedroom have gone home. It is the sound of music softly playing because, somehow, Sundays always seem so dismal and therefore call for soft music, if at all. It is realising, quite suddenly, that my eyes are glazing over whatever reading material that I have after a morning of cup after cup of coffee and reading. It is in reveling in the nostalgia of Sundays past and (sort of evaluation(?) of how far I've come) wondering if my former self on one of those past Sundays at 3 O'clock ever imagined that this is how I would be spending my Sunday. It is in indulging in heavy daydreams of all the places I want to visit, of all the things I want to do while there. It is in realising that there are no guarantees in ever satisfying my wanderlust even after visiting these places, as past experience has been kind enough to point out. It is in acknowledging this fact but at the same time giving my mind free reign to wander, to explore and to dream. It is at 3 O'clock on Sundays that I reconcile with this incomprehensible fact that I'll never be content, that no matter how many items I cross from my bucket list, I may never achieve that elusive zen, that I will always be seeking something, that I may never have it all. And that, surprisingly, is okay.

Oh, but how I love 3 O'clock on Sunday!