I wish I knew what it was about Sundays,
That make you refuse to get out of bed.
Hungover or not,
You always find yourself withering under the sheets.
Shielding yourself from the sun,
The light passing through the blinds as a reminder of the world moving forward.
With or without you.
I don’t know what it is about Sundays,
That make you want to text your ex boyfriend.
Bury yourself in your old memories and wish you were in a different part of life.
A past life.
Something about Sundays give you inspiration to turn yourself around.
Start anew and begin the week as a better version of yourself.
Something about Sundays give you an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.
Spend your day reflecting on where you are in life.
Whether or not you’re satisfied.
I wish I knew what it was about Sundays,
That determines if a calendar starts or ends a week with Sunday.