Verse by @indigo.varn

the sea does not remember any of our names i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud the wallpaper remembers the wrong colors i counted every streetlight home

the birds do not know we broke up the birds do not know we broke up the highway hums the way you used to we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast

i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the sky was the color of an unopened letter every train sounds like leaving from here the mirror learned my face by accident

the tape hissed where your voice should be we are all somebody else's weather your laugh survives in the hallway i speak to the version of you that listens

we made a home out of almost we made a home out of almost i am learning the names of ordinary things again we made a home out of almost

i wore your city like a borrowed coat i am learning the names of ordinary things again somewhere a phone rings and nobody is worried your laugh survives in the hallway