Verse by @indigo.varn

i counted every streetlight home i left the door unlocked for a season every train sounds like leaving from here i wore your city like a borrowed coat

the wallpaper remembers the wrong colors i wore your city like a borrowed coat i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

we are all somebody else's weather we made a home out of almost i keep apologizing to furniture there is a version of us that stayed

i still set the table for the ghost of us i saved the last cigarette for a braver night there is honey in the bottom of the bad years i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

the floorboards keep the score