Sometime, somewhere in labyrinth city, a student council concluded the taste was exactly like a particular kind of apple juice you could only get in the valley. I kissed one of its members before agreeing with that statement and as if I’ve never known thirst, continued till we dried.

Neither of us felt guilty for what happened outside of that room because under those sheets it was our holiday.

We lied and hid to be together every Saturday but ironically had an honesty policy about our exchanges, never omitted a single thought and always asked the tough questions until a strong gust of wind took us in different directions to enjoy our Sundays before the fiery mess we created could reach us.

Saturday ends

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