I whisper, I’m leaving now…I’ll go home…I’ll feed the cat and play with him…get a little writing done…then I’ll be back…I’ll stay the night…we’ll get dinner or lunch or something. And through the fog of sleep she smiles. I kiss her forehead. Her cheek. Her lips. I run out the door.
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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