Weakdays

People leave.

The special days become a painful reminder of who couldn’t stay,

And how I loved too much of someone who loved me too little,

And how my heart was too big to let another day slip by without it leaving a mark.

Because at some point I decided I’d rather carve the date on my skin than forget it.

I hollowed myself out with the days that meant more to me than to the people I shared them with.

And I haven’t been whole since.

 

These days my calendar looks like an open wound.