monday afternoons;
sweat, bugs, ice cream and a dainty, mesmeric sky tinted a charming peachy pink.
pens, food trucks, boys and a smattering of rocks and leaves, crunching and bouncing under the feet of each passerby.
she's alive, relieved, blood still coursing with adrenaline; skin still tingling from the kiss of the sun that blankets the town.
the drive is bright and uplifting and scenic. she is hopeful.
monday nights;
creaming soda, headlights, rugs and pavement glistening with the tears of those who waited.
the empty streets echo desperation, satisfied only in the slightest by a single vehicle.
an indie song is playing, she has the whole world to herself, she's drifting into space, she loses her focus, she's back.
people, things and ideologies don't exist for a fleeting twenty minutes.
muted hues of green and red and yellow flood the ground, blurred streetlights warm with purpose rise above her as they wait for morning.
for the sun to gush into the horizon on that morning after monday, for the sky to present a jagged array of neon orange, for the water to glisten with fading stars, she wants nothing more.
but it's the morning after monday.
no chance.
