by Linnea Lieth

Artwork by Liz Chiu

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August 7th

By the sixth time, I could predict

the number of weeks (5)

it would take for you to text me those three words:

I miss you.

In the early evening,

as the humidity bonded our bare-chestedness,

I said, I missed you too.

Just this once, you said,

We can’t keep doing this.

And I started counting again.