The Weeks

There are good weeks and there are bad

The good come tumbling through the door, unafraid of making a grand entrance

They take a seat at the head of the table, serving themselves the largest portion.

They make amiable conversation with the ones sitting beside them; there’s the bad weeks, the ok weeks, and the weeks she can’t seem to remember, but the good weeks make conversation with them all the same.

The bad weeks tend to mope in the corner, making their entrance subtly, in a failed attempt of trying to stay out of focus, but she always seems to notice them

They take their petite portion, even though it seems larger than the one of the good, and eat it silently while the good carries on the conversation

The bad weeks will attempt to say something, just trying to fit into cordial dinner conversation, but will always seem to say the wrong thing

When the good weeks bring up a joyous occasion, the bad weeks almost always seem to sneak in with an equally depressing one

The ok weeks get by.

They don’t partake in much table-talk, but listen respectfully all the same

The ok weeks remember everything, the good and the bad, but never seem to speak up about either.

The weeks sit together all the same; laughing, moping, remembering

She invites them all to the table, hoping at least one will stay.

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