Sundays have been hard on her
days of resting are unsettling
she knows Monday is right around the corner
it’s a day worse than Sunday
she calls this day the “Sunday blues”
a day in which she mourns Mondays
she talks to nobody
she sits alone, tears streaming
time heals all wounds, she repeats to herself
yet time has passed, and she’s still here
she’s still mourning Mondays
she’s still asking why
go for a run
get ice cream
sing
read positive psychology
she tells herself things that may help
but she does nothing
instead she sits
instead, she sits and writes poems about Monday
Monday comes and more tears stream
she writes a poem on her pillow in mascara
she asks God why this happened
there is no answer
she keeps telling herself that time heals all wounds
time passes and the wound hasn’t healed
yet, something is changing
something is different on Sundays
she still cries
she still sits alone
she still has this wound
but she has no expectations
Monday comes and she’s ready
she’s ready to cry
she’s ready to let herself really mourn
as she does, she feels the warmth of her smile again
she holds herself
she whispers gently
that it’s okay
that it’s okay to cry
~
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