I'm sick of being your weekday girl. I get it, I'm just a Monday and she's a Saturday, but maybe that's because you've never even tried to open the valve that's currently clogging my heart.

I refuse to chase you, or hunt you down and frankly, I'm not looking for you to save me either.

I have imaginary memories of you caring about my words and the way my eyes light up when I talk. Except that was all just a part of your sycophantic nightmare. The one where you told me to kiss you and as I leaned forward you pushed a dagger right through my guts.

I sometimes think that the repetitious cycle of someone pretending to care about you one day, and the very next, acting as though you don't even exist, must be the worst kind of abuse.

Nothing hurts like that.

Well anyways, you're wrong. I'm not a Monday. I'm the whole damn week.