I don’t want to be your weekend getaway, babe.

I want to be

the reason
you can’t get up on a Monday,
the struggle to let go
of a night we shared together

the coffee break on a Tuesday afternoon
keeping you awake,
warm, and alive

the paper cut from all the pile of work
of your Wednesday night,
as the pain reminds you
of how it hurts
not to be with me

the suit you prepare for a meeting,
or an occasion you wish
to be wearing beside a red-dress wearing woman
your arm wrapped behind her waist
on a numb Thursday

and that bottle of beer you've been drinking on
a Friday evening, with a hundred people around
you search for me,
but I’m inside your grip,
and inside each of your thoughts

not just your weekend getaway.

(jacky)