Fridays are full of possibility. Anything could happen. Sure, the weekend could be a letdown, it could turn out to be just another endless series of hours with nothing going on.
But the weekend could be epic. It could be the kind of weekend you spend the rest of your life trying to recreate, the kind of weekend you bring up at brunch ten years later, “remember that one weekend when…” and everyone gets all nostalgic.
When it’s still Friday, you don’t know what kind of weekend it will be, and the air is charged with excitement and potential. This could be the weekend. This could be the love affair.
It could be the one that you compare all the others to, even after it’s over. It’s the one you look back on fondly, the one you hope that someday you can revisit, the one you replay in your mind every once in awhile. Just because it fills you with that warm, fuzzy feeling.
I’ve had the other kinds of love. Sunday love, all comfortable and familiar. Tuesday love with its caring and closeness. Saturday love where you know it’s too good to be true and you’ll wake up the next day and it’ll all be over. Monday love, where you wonder what the hell you were thinking and the next weekend seems to be incredibly far away. Thursday love where it all seems so close and yet there’s so much standing in the way. Wednesday love where you’ve got all this history but feel like you’re in a rut and every day is the same thing.
Forget all of those. Right now, I want a Friday kind of love. I want that possibility and recklessness and passion that only comes knowing there’s so much that could happen, and never mind that sometimes it doesn’t live up to your expectations. Even a bad Friday is better than most Sundays or Mondays or Tuesdays.