Verse by @kai.ashland

the lemon tree outlived the marriage i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries i put the whole year in one suitcase

the moon is a coin i cannot spend i am the last one at the party fixing the lights the tape hissed where your voice should be you never asked and i never stopped answering

i left the door unlocked for a season your laugh survives in the hallway the field went gold then went to sleep the moon is a coin i cannot spend

there is a version of us that stayed you never asked and i never stopped answering i speak to the version of you that listens the wallpaper remembers the wrong colors

my mother taught me how to fold a grudge you were a rumor i believed twice the bus came and i did not get on the calendar keeps making promises

the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays my mother taught me how to fold a grudge