Too Late

I like when you call me too late.

When you tell me how just after dialing, you realize what a ridiculous hour it is to be calling just to ask me how my day was.

But I just like that you call me.

I have a strange affection for the way, after fifteen years, you still cannot tell me that you love me.

But you’ve learned to say “You know I do.”

And I know well enough.

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