I used to love Mondays when the weekend had been long and busy and our lips hadn’t touched for two days. Now I’ve fallen into orbit with the rest of the world– and I don’t look forward to Mondays anymore.
We had sex for the first time on a Tuesday in October. My mom was out of town and you skipped practice to make love to me. Today I came home and took a four hour nap so I wouldn’t spend another afternoon crying about the time you told me I’d never fuck as beautifully as I spoke.
I saw you wearing the shirt that used to be mine; before I got irrational and threw it in the back of your car as you drove away. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit thankful that it was you, and not her, wearing it.
Your friend asked me how I was doing and I turned my head so he wouldn’t see my wet eyes or trembling lips. His eyes shifted to the ground. “This is how I’m doing,” I said.
All Fridays are the same now. I don’t want to go anywhere in case I see you; this isn’t how I wanted it. I wish I was as noble as I pretend to be.
My friends keep saying that I need to get out, meet someone new. They tell me it will be awhile before I get out of this town and I can’t live the entire time secluded in a house that only encourages my tears. I told them to fuck off.
Sundays were our favorite day. I guess they are still my favorite. No one bothers you on a Sunday, but I still get that weird feeling at two o’clock— the same one I got when you told me we had to go on a drive and talk. I know that there are still remains of who I was, even before I met you, somewhere inside of me.
Maybe this will be the week I find them."