Sunday night, four lines

A brief account of the week.

She had a bad week and I had a fine one, and next month it will be the other way round. That is the whole mechanism.

Nobody has ever asked me how I was doing on a Wednesday before.

My buddy noticed something in my journal before I did and asked me a very gentle question about it.

Paired up. We text on Sunday nights, four or five lines each, and it has quietly become the most reliable thing in my week.

Yours, as ever.