He Only Loved Me On Weekdays

He loved me on weekdays,
when it was quiet and he was alone
and it wasn’t socially appropriate to get plastered during the workweek,
or he probably would have loved that instead.

He loved me on weekdays,
when he cared for his family and
spent time with his closest friends.
When he was clear-headed enough to comprehend
the effort of cultivating a semi-lasting relationship with someone else
because if he had the choice, he wouldn’t do it sober.

He loved me on weekdays,
when he liked to wake up to me first thing in the morning,
having someone to curl up with when it was rainy and frigid
and he didn’t want to go to work
and wanted to hide under pillowy blankets instead.

He loved me on weekdays,
when it was easy to love.
Life can rapidly change on weekends,
and he didn’t have enough strength
to know what it was like to love through a weekend
because he never remembered the weekends.

He loved me on weekdays,
because weekdays didn’t require introductions
or making decisions of who to balance plans with
or limiting the amount of substances one could take in a given period of time,
sacrifices people make for the ones they love.

He loved me on weekdays,
when he liked to pretend he was grown up
because it was socially expected of him.
On the weekends, he didn’t have to act his age.

He loved me on weekdays,
because he wanted someone to pass the time with
because he had yet to find a passion other than
looking forward to the weekends.

And when I realized he loved me only on weekdays,
that was when I decided to start living my life
without him on the weekends.
At some point in time,
a person has to value their self-worth
and sever ties with people who haven’t yet learned how to love.

Life is too short to love someone
only on the weekdays.