Dear Sunday,
We have had a difficult relationship for a long time now and I feel like I should write to you with the hope that, maybe, we can work it out. Yesterday you were beautiful, I have to say that much, and unlike the other days of the week your name suggests bright possibilities (yeah, I just said that) but really you terrify me. You offer me everything and nothing at the same time, and I almost always leave you feeling overwhelmed and confused and well, depressed. I know it's not your fault but honestly this doesn't happen any other day of the week, so I think it's fair that you assume part of the responsibility. Even when I've had a great time, gone to the beach or to a barbecue, to a fair or shopping or a movie, took a hike with a friend, worked on a science report, finished an assignment, made a phone call, cleaned a closet, washed the dogs, took a bike ride, even when I did the things you always suggest: brunch or church, I always finish the day with gloom. Always. Maybe it's my pattern, maybe it's the end of something and that's what I feel sad about, like, if only I had done things differently it wouldn't be over pleasedon'tleaveSunday whatamIsupposedtodonow? That sort of thing. Maybe that's what it is. You make me tired. You remind me of everything I don't have and all that I have to do to get it.
Do you think we can ever work this out? Or should I just accept it and move on. Let's talk about this again next week,
Love,
Deird
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