Today,
Today is a Friday.
The end of the week, a period to the run-on sentence.
But why does it feel
Like Monday?
Why does it feel like I've been walking in circles?
Like every day is a restart to the first one,
The save file that can never be overwritten,
An undo key pressed each time progress is achieved?
Today is not Friday.
Today is my fifth Monday.
My twelfth Monday.
My six thousand and thirty-sixth Monday.
Friday is a calm I'll never feel,
For Monday overwhelms it.
Friday is my goal,
But Monday? My meager reward for a week of persistence.
I may have tasted Friday in my youth,
But Monday is my purgatory, the possibility of repent wiped.
Today is Friday, for you.
Today is but another Monday for me.
