YEAR EIGHT

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THE EIGHTH YEAR, summer was quiet.
Very quiet.

And Felix cried,
because Changbin went to camp,
which meant he never called
because he was too busy learning,
how to tie knots he'd never use again.

Year eight Felix hung with kids in his grade,
that couldn't compare to Changbin,
because they didn't read the stars with him,
and got annoyed when he didn't understand.

But at least they were there,
when he called for them.

Year eight consisted of a terrible longing.

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