Weekend freewrite. 3 prompts, epic write.

Yesterday was Sunday.
I should have been Tuesday but it got messed up. Again. It has been happening more and more.
I used to fight it, with logic and stubborn refusal of all things intangibly unexplainable. But not anymore. I am tired of fighting it.
As I wasn't Tuesday as I had expected, the time in which I should have existed as Tuesday passed through me like a void.
When I say void, one may conjure up notions of nothingness, so perhaps void is not the right word at all.
Nothingness is surely a benign state, nothing doesn't resemble time stretched backwards, or held in place. Where sounds cannot escape and masks transfixed upon your face. Masks that prevent those passing by who claimed their Tuesday status without thought to notice that you're Tuesdayless, stripped of the sun moving across your sky, no rise or fall.
No fall, just held in place without the garb of Tues to dress my wounded vessel, that will never again step in time with another.

As Tuesday ceased to be, at least within the realm in which I dwell, the space and time in which it should have been left a gaping aching chasm between the here and there. Not so much empty as wanting. A burning vacuous tear in time, it's axis buried deep within my solar plexus.

I got down on one knee. I was going to pop the question right then, but after such events one begs to question the relevance of questioning at all. The question a convention in itself, it's meaning presumed exhumed entombed in time. But time itself it ceased to hold, when robbed of days, when stripped of self, are one kneed questions about you or me or us or them?

I fall to two knees at the thought of forever and ever afters. Lies on lies we tell each other, knowing forever never has and never was anyone's to gift or own or promise, or indeed to be. How can I offer everyday when I myself could not retain a single Tuesday for myself.

I cannot look you in the eyes and promise every day ahead when I myself am no longer. For when left Tuesdayless no one knew, but pon that day that turned for you, at least I presume that it did, though truth be told I only saw you from my mould behind my mask and you in yours, your face it's beauty, aching beauty, it's vision lasts a million painful stretching Tuesdays.

You tell me that it's Monday, though you riddle me with lines. Not of today but rather yesterday, of Sunday rather than today. For passed is easily confined to thought and reflection, today is left to the mystery encased in ever unfolding nowness, now can not be analysed except when caught mid fall and frozen as I was just now yet days ago when I never was Tuesday.

If you speak truth and yesterday was Sunday that would mean tomorrow is again Tuesday. That cannot be. I can't go to that place again. So tell me how, just how can I on bended knee promise such things knowing full well that tomorrow is not ever again going to be Tuesday for me. For last Tuesday is gone never again to be.

The way the guitar sounded when he played me back from the edge of time. When time no longer is, or space. When dimensions stretched and warped and bent in darkness unimaginable tear the atoms from each nucleus, each cell within this shell it reels from the unimaginable intangible somatic prison cell of those chasm days of lost selves.

The gentle lullaby it lulls it lies it tells me nothing matters in between the strums the rhythmic melodic guitar is all there is. Again just for the shortest time I promise all, I believe to try, once more I hope that I will dance in time, I'll hear the beat, I'll find my feet and step with you, I'll walk the path, well see this through.

Please play until I fall asleep, don't look at me don't see me weep, don't see my face I hide my shame, I hide my tears conceal my pain.

Please play just play til I'm at rest then know my love you did your best, know I'll always love you so, now turn my sweet don't look just go.

All images are of my own original art.