Verse by @lux.trebble

i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands my mother taught me how to fold a grudge we were young and the light was cheap there is a version of us that stayed

i still set the table for the ghost of us i am learning to be a room with the curtains open the lemon tree outlived the marriage the sky was the color of an unopened letter

we sang until the neighbors forgave us the kettle screams and i let it the radio only plays the parts i remember somewhere a phone rings and nobody is worried

i am learning the names of ordinary things again