little blurbs

weekday wonderings

I imagine discrete moments of memories and nostalgia panging me and leaving with me nothing left to do but to silently mull it over and expect epic tears. But it seems that it never happens–nothing does except a passive progression spread out through the mundane musings of Mondays, tiring thoughts of Tuesdays, wistful wishes of Wednesdays, tireless tirades of Thursdays, freeing feuds of Fridays, slow songs on Saturday, and soft shouts of Sunday.


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