Eight months?
Nine months?
Six months?
Two?
“I guess the secret is out
that I still miss you.”
I picture the reflection
of a bonfire in your eyes.
It escapes me in a tear,
mourning a summer with you
that I had hoped to share.
Five weeks?
Four weeks?
Twelve weeks?
Three?
How long
will it take
for me
to feel free?
Three days?
Nine days?
Eight days?
Four?
How long
did it take
you to not care
anymore?