You Were My Sunday

Imagine someone calling from downstairs on a Sunday, telling you to hurry up because they've brought iced coffee and the traffic police keep looking at their badly parked scooter. You spend the afternoon doing nothing you'd planned. You walk through a supermarket, buy things neither of you need, and sit on an expensive sofa in a furniture shop pretending you can afford it. They find a hideous orange lamp and insist it would look good in your bedroom. Months later, you're back in the same supermarket, standing in front of the pears. You pick up your phone to send them a photograph.
You still remember their number.

You had a habit of showing up at my apartment without telling me. Usually around eleven, carrying two iced coffees and complaining about how expensive they'd become. You never rang the doorbell. You called and asked me to come downstairs because you couldn't be bothered to find parking. We spent most Sundays doing things that didn't particularly need doing. Buying groceries we could've ordered online. Walking through furniture stores pretending we could afford the sofas. Sitting in cafés long after we'd finished eating because neither of us wanted to go home yet. Once, we spent forty minutes choosing a lamp for your apartment. You bought the cheapest one and complained about it for the next six months. You knew which lift in my building was always broken. I knew you hated coriander but never remembered to ask restaurants to leave it out. There wasn't anything remarkable about our Sundays. Then you moved to another city. For a while, we kept sending each other photographs of things we would've laughed about together. A badly written restaurant sign. An ugly chair. A dog sitting like a person. Eventually, even those became less frequent. Last Sunday, I went to the supermarket alone. They'd rearranged the aisles, and I couldn't find the coffee. I took out my phone to complain to you. Then I saw our last conversation. It was from eight months ago. You'd sent me a picture of a particularly ugly lamp. I was still laughing at it when I found the coffee.

Named after someone who made ordinary days feel like your favourite day of the week. Someone you could spend hours with doing absolutely nothing important. Grocery runs, overpriced iced coffees, pointless walks through furniture stores, and jokes that nobody else would find funny. You Were My Sunday is about missing someone in the smallest, most unexpected moments, especially when something happens and they're still the first person you want to tell.

First Impression: Pear Slices with Sea Salt, Blackcurrant Buds, Wild Fig Leaves

The Heart: Wild Meadow Flowers, Golden Wheat, Rosewater

The Sillage: Soft White Musk, Sun-Dried Hay, Powdery Violet

You're heading out for a lazy Sunday brunch, running errands with someone you love, browsing furniture stores with no plans to buy anything, meeting an old friend for iced coffee, or spending an unplanned afternoon wandering around the city.