This will sound like such an unusual rant
But why must Fridays come around each week
For many they are days they look forward to
For others, it is something they no longer seek.
I remember when I had a house full of activity
Maybe then it was a day that I waited for its return
Even if the house held someone special these days
Possibly then I wouldn’t return home so forlorn.
But when the children are off to their own families
Yes there are days they are awaiting my arrival
Yet with the passing of one you felt was your spark
An empty house is a matter of simply survival.
So as each Friday rolls around now I have to pause
Not think of the smiles, whispers, joy, even lust
The past has shown me I can make it through the weekend
But without someone special, I just do what I must.