Verse by @wilder.june

there is honey in the bottom of the bad years the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud the tape hissed where your voice should be

summer left its fingerprints on the glass i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands winter came in through the window we never fixed i am learning to be a room with the curtains open

the lemon tree outlived the marriage nothing holy ever asked for my name the wallpaper remembers the wrong colors i speak to the version of you that listens

i buried the argument in the yard there is a version of us that stayed