Sundays.

He used to keep sundays for me. When the hangover didn't let his stupid mind think clearly, all he wanted in his brain  was me.

I used to be so  happy just knowing that Sundays were for me. I remember how I wait for them, trying to make the most of those hours, minutes or even seconds he decided to give me as a present.

I know what you are thinking.

"That person who only shares a day with you, does not deserve nor a minute of your time" But I was happy. It was my day. Our day.

The day when there were no distance, or no other people around, just me, and him. And all those silly thoughts we used to share.

Now Sundays are just another day of the week. Because times changed quickly and the minutes we built together turned into missed time.

I think speaking to a person who knew you even better than yourself as if he was now a stranger  is one of the hardest thing I have done in my whole life.

But sundays are just the end of a week, and you know what does  it mean?

The beginning of a new one.