June’s already circling dates.
July’s staking its claim.
August can wait—
       she always shows up late anyway.

But this?

This part feels like we finally found the rhythm.

Two weeks here.
One week there.
Whatever works.

No formulas.
Just patterns.
Plans within plans. (and all the *what ifs*)

Flights booked with fingers crossed.
Weather stalked, playlists reloaded.
Weekends outlined in half-jokes and maybes.

And still—
    it works.

You: craving cheesecake, wings, popcorn, popeyes, all at once.

Me: texting mid-meeting with weather reports and disc golf dreams.

Coal: sunbathing on the porch,
      resting on that blanket,

      guarding it like I might steal it back. (he knows I could never)

He knows the rhythm too. (probably thinks he wrote it)

We’re learning how to time this,
      how to stretch out the in-betweens,
          to miss each other without unraveling…

             let a Wednesday feel just as full
      as a Friday with your name written on it.

This isn’t our *forever* schedule.

But for now? It fits.

You in ATL.
Me in DFW.

Us, in this soft countdown loop
    from “see you soon”
      to “I’m already packed”

Summer’s never been my favorite.

Too hot.
Too much.

But then you showed up
    in cutoff plans and iced tea moods…
    and now suddenly, (obviously)

    Summer looks good on us.