Sunday sat with you in a meadow where cherished flowers bloom; staring off into your figure who stood amidst the colorful flora.

Such simple activity and enjoyment.. He can't wrap his head around it— the fact you're so content with staying like this with him.

"Do you wish to just sit here?" Sunday asked, the meaning being left ambigious as he stared at you with a tamed look, "We can always do something else." he added.

Why would you stay with someone so plain like him?