Friday

What day is today? So many people might say it's Valentine Day. But no, a talk about Vals on Valentine day is just too mainstream. Not going to add it anymore.

It is about Friday.

Like for example, how I hate friday.

People see it as an extraordinary thing. They think I'm a hardworker. That I love Monday instead. I don't really like Monday actually. It's just, I love Monday better than Friday, just like I love any other day of the week.

They just never know the truth.

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Hi, my name is Frysanthia. There's this special person who call me Fry. And there's should be a special day of mine, you can call it Fry-Day. But that day eventually never come.

I used to love Friday, because of that "Fry-Day" term. Like, Friday is my day. Something great will happen. Like, your handsome novel publisher said that he would set a meeting every Friday. And it turned out, he never came back to this village. I know I might not the greatest novelist. But I was motivated, highly motivated to finish my manuscript.

But yes that Fry-Day had ever happened once. It was on our fifth meeting. He told me that I was smart, that it was a great novel, that he admired me. He felt something different that he never felt for another girl before. And we walked down this park, only the two of us. So excited. And at the night we kept texting each other. We talked about the novel at first, but it was just going deeper and deeper. And all I knew was the next Friday, on February, he asked me out. We came to a very nice restaurant. And it was awkward after all. We couldn't speak anything, even after our plates were empty. Followed by a long silence, I couldn't help but felt that he was dying to say something he really wanted to say to me, but he couldn't do that. His eyes were talking.

"I Love you"

But that word never came out of his mouth, neither did I. So I decided I was done waiting. I was so disappointed, thought that Fry-Day would eventually come to me at last.

And there I was, left him at the restaurant, no voice, no last word.

I was secretly hoping, he would have those little courage to come after me, asked me to get back. But he was just there, stood still. And yeah, there was the last time I saw him. There was never be the Friday meeting. And I have never seen him in this village as well. Maybe he'd moved out. 

It is just another slice of a pain. There is still another Friday.
A long story though, when my best childhood friend, left to California to chase his dream. He'd gone like forever. And my feeling is never be the same after that. But here I am, stupidly waiting for the Fry-Day to come again, so that I can forgive Friday, so I can release my hatred of Friday.

Then this bright flash light come up nowhere, which dims and disappears a second later. I guess no one really notice it but me. I am shocked, wake up from this park bench. Search for the source of the light.

Is that real? Or just my own imagination?