The $ETH Cruel Poetry of Monday Mornings ❄️

After countless snoozed alarms and half-hearted wake-up calls,

the bed — warm and inviting — whispered stories of longing.

It missed you. Deeply. Especially after a weekend you abandoned it for joy and chaos.

But Monday doesn't wait.

Outside, it’s still dark. $BNB Snowflakes dust the ground like forgotten promises.

Trees glisten under a cold, silent sheen.

The wind? Wild and merciless.

And the sun? Nowhere in sight for days — leaving your spirit just as frosty.

No matter what’s at stake — an exam, an interview, even survival —

trading the sanctuary of your cozy bed for the bite of Monday’s reality feels impossible.

Yet, here it is again.

The $BTC weekend’s warmth? Frozen over.

That fleeting joy? Gone with the wind.

Mondays have never been loved. Not since the chains of routine wrapped around our lives.

And so, like every soul stuck in this cycle, you wear the expression we all know too well —

tired, bitter, borderline constipated.

A face that screams: It’s Monday again.