May 3rd

hope drifts in

like fog

a whisper

a suggestion

of a maybe

on a Saturday

in the morning

when the tank is dry

bank balance

said goodbye

to something

anything

resembling solid

you are clinging

to a dream

it sustains you

for a minute

crazy schemes

for a minute more

a few hours

full of what-ifs

and how you’d fix things

and more

before

the Sunday disappointment

barges in.

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