Forget,
forgetting,
forgotten.
slim chance
in remembering
forever. each
day fades,
and with it
all of yesterday.
the sun stays the same.
the stars still,
seem cold.
and i am forgetting that
one day this
pain will be
gone and forgotten.
gone and forgotten
for each day I hurt--
slim chance there is,
that I will forget.
but one day,
I'll be gone
and forgotten.
and I won't
remember much,
then.

Friday. It's the day of relief. But it's really false hopes and misguided dreams. We think the worst is over but it has yet to begin. We'll cry through the week, always assuming that Friday is our sacred day. We assure ourselves that it will get better. And when we rest ourselves, putting our thoughts on hold--the weekend is gone, and we're here thinking again of Friday and its glories.