Angels have the phone box

We broke up on a Thursday, a beautiful sunny day, until my heart fell fifteen stories and landed at your feet to be kicked to the curb. In my book, Friday is a better day to end it, so you have the whole weekend to get some composure and re-emerge as just another loser in the relationship stakes. On a Thursday with your face swollen from crying to much, you have to decide whether a broken heart is a good enough reason to call in  sick on Friday, knowing that the tears will never be far away and you look like shit. No Thursday wasn’t a good day for me. But I know it wasn’t a good day for you either because you texted me fifty times on Friday to say sorry. I deleted them all.