In the shadows of the week, Thursdays stand. A day that brings no comfort to my hands. Its somber hue does nothing to inspire, and everything is a reminder.

When I think of Thursdays, I think of June, I think of old blue jeans that beg to be ripped. A mental fog, a heaviness that takes hold. If Thursday was a number it would be 4.

A playlist born to battle this bleak day. One that captures the best of melancholy with melodies that match my restless mind. I seek refuge where solace I can find.

Each song a whisper….a reminder to feel, cause pain demands to be felt.

In every line, I seek the chime. In words that dance, I find myself unable to tame this rhythmic game. A symphony of words so sublime. An endless flow, as wild, as free, yet as deep as the sea.

Each verse a puzzle, a playful quest, To weave a tapestry, my very best.

Regrettably,