Verse by @lux.trebble

there is honey in the bottom of the bad years somewhere a phone rings and nobody is worried there is honey in the bottom of the bad years i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

we sang until the neighbors forgave us we made a home out of almost nothing holy ever asked for my name the sky was the color of an unopened letter

i am the last one at the party fixing the lights we made a home out of almost the kettle screams and i let it your laugh survives in the hallway

i speak to the version of you that listens i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand you never asked and i never stopped answering i keep apologizing to furniture

the kettle screams and i let it the birds do not know we broke up there is a version of us that stayed