Sunday is the worst part of my week. Fridays are the best. Not because Friday means I don't have to work for a few days and Sunday means work is either the next day or that I'll be spending Monday doing nothing while my friends are at work (depends on the week), but because I see K on Friday, and Sunday is the last day we have together for a while.
Friday is full of excitement in knowing we'll get to see each other soon, and we have the whole weekend together. But Sunday, no matter what we do, has a slight amount of dread and is filled with quick, stolen glances at the clock as we count the hours we have left until one of us has to leave to drive the five hours back home.
As soon as K leaves here, I feel sad and lonely because the person I most want to be here in the world is getting further away with every second. I find myself looking at the clock and thinking, "Two hours ago, he was still here, and we were lying on the couch together." And every time he leaves, I always hope that someday in the future -- hopefully not so far away -- there will come a time that Sunday will come and go with no dread, no glances at the clock and no five-hour drive for either of us.
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