Thank God it’s Friday—
      last night was gentle,
      short,
      just enough to spill the chaos of the day

      into your quiet listening.

You arrived late,
    wearing tired eyes,
    but stayed long enough
    to reset the rhythm,

    softening the edges of a Thursday that refused to quit.

No big wins last night—
   baseball quietly bowing out,
   scoreboard stubbornly blank,

   the night content with quiet losses and easy comfort.

Today’s Friday—
        and I’m already watching the clock,
        hoping your day ends early,
        hoping we steal back some of that lost time,

        stretch out the evening long before sunset.

It’s Friday—
     and my thoughts are already leaning
                 toward that slow exhale,
                              your smile,
                            our laughter—

     the familiar way the world finally slows
                      the moment you step in.

And when Mr. Sun finally dips—
 let’s not chase anything big.
             Just cold drinks,
    feet tangled on the couch, (or wherever)

    and a night that doesn’t need fixing.