Where da weekend at, yo?

Oh weekend,
where for art thou weekend? You came and went so fast like the ever-elusive shooting star on a summer's night. We laughed, we cryed, we dryed each others tears and kissed each other's boo-boos away. Now, like the sand through the hour-glass so are these sacred few summer days. Days to run, days to dance, days to kiss, days to love. They are winding down through the turnpike of time into a cyclic abyss never to be enjoyed again. Replaced by the rotting monotomy of the daily grind, the rat race that encompasses all that is evil, greedy and glutinous. Replaced by the fast-paced banter of bored workplace colleagues waiting for the day to end. Waiting for another day to end, another night to fall, another sun to rise, returning us to the beginning to begin the torture once again.