Saturday night texts come in hot, dripping promise.
You match the tempo, volley a joke, toss an invite.
Sunday you’re replaying the highlight reel.
Monday? Their bubble turns grey, then still.
You chalk it up to “work mode” and start another week of polite wait-and-see.

That story never changes because you keep treating energy like a confetti cannon: blast it, hope it hangs in the air.
Dopamine spikes on the weekend; cortisol slams the brakes by Tuesday.
If you don’t meter the rush, you crash right beside it.

Momentum isn’t found in louder signals.
It’s built in timed drops that keep the current steady, never manic.
Most will never learn the pattern, so they keep pushing highs and drowning in lows.

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