Verse by @indigo.varn

somewhere a phone rings and nobody is worried i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries every train sounds like leaving from here the birds do not know we broke up

there is honey in the bottom of the bad years every train sounds like leaving from here there is a version of us that stayed the cold got into the bones of the house

there is honey in the bottom of the bad years the field went gold then went to sleep there is a version of us that stayed nothing holy ever asked for my name

i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud the kettle screams and i let it i am learning the names of ordinary things again