It’s the weekend. A fleeting taste of liberty on my tongue and no burdens to push me down. Even the weight of the world takes a break from its desire to destroy me. So I roll over. I pull my lover close. Rain plays on the rooftop. I think I’ll stay in bed.
Lovers in swan shaped boats paddle along the canal. The late afternoon sun shimmers on the surface. Hordes of people wander the banks in various states of undress. They walk dogs and hold hands and hurriedly eat ice cream before it drips down the cone. Simple pleasures cure the lives we lead.
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