I am Friday; I am Monday's envy and Thursday's despair. I am the climax of serenity you will never reach. I am your urge to be empty of obligation and your desire to be filled with freedom. I am Friday and I am the end of responsibility. I am the promise of sleeping in tomorrow, and I show glimpses of a languid weekend with feline stretches and the caress of the sun at 10 A.M., still in bed.
I am Friday morning and I am rushed after four days of constant "what is due? what am I forgetting? I'm going to be late, I'm going to screw up." I am Friday morning and I persevere with the encouragement of 'just one more day.'
I am Friday afternoon and I am desperation. I am counting the minutes left. I am listening to the second on the clock tick away, holding my breath until the sound of twicefold freedom.
I am Friday night and I am euphoria. I am the end of the pull and tug, the end of the twist and contort. I am the end of all the week's molding. I am the reversion to what's natural. I am the prospect of an uninterrupted weekend.
I am Friday and I am the hunger that you cannot fulfill. I promise the impossible. I am transient and I bring the hope of owning your own time. I am the opportunity to do what you want to do. I am Friday and I scare you because you've never been given the option of autonomy before.
I am Friday and I am the world's greatest liar. I am a façade, a mask that blinds you from the reality of your imprisonment. I am a reprise to keep you from searching for something more. I will never be what I promised you because I cannot escape this cycle of days and weeks that flow and ebb that crescendo and fall. I rotate in this cycle without getting anywhere. I am not real, a concept invented to keep you contained and to keep you from asking why. Why am I here? Why do I put up with this bullshit five days a week? I am Friday and I am your imagined prophecy of relief. I am Friday and I do not exist.
I am Friday and I foretell another Monday.
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© 1998 UrielsPoet@aol.com
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