Weekend

Weekend

I dreamt of a weekend

where I don’t have to think

about the mornings with no hand to hold—

only the quiet strength

of the plan I made to hold myself.

I dreamt of a weekend

where I don’t have to miss

about people who no longer exist in my life,

but instead—

I get up, walk into a room full of strangers,

and read my words out loud,

with no one beside me,

yet not feeling alone.

I dreamt of a weekend

where I don’t have to reminisce

over the friends and family I left behind,

but rise—

and find new souls to grow beside.

I dreamt of a weekend

where I don’t think twice

before saying, come over—

where we talk, eat, dance without fear,

and let the night end

in a slow, careless drive.

I dreamt of a weekend

where I don’t stare at the walls,

but lean on them—

stretch, breathe,

and find my muscle again.

I dreamt of a weekend

where I find a spot where no one passes by,

and spend time with half-naked trees,

and birds finding their peace

in the midst of spring.

I dreamt of a weekend

where I don’t care about the world,

where I dance on the side of the road,

while the music from my car

spills into the evening.

I dreamt of a weekend

and now it sits in memory—

because I lived it.