Verse by @ash.faraday

the sky was the color of an unopened letter we made a home out of almost the sea does not remember any of our names every train sounds like leaving from here

the kettle screams and i let it you were a rumor i believed twice we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast summer left its fingerprints on the glass

we are all somebody else's weather i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries i am learning the names of ordinary things again the map was wrong but the walking was right

i am learning the names of ordinary things again you can hear the whole town breathing at four am i am the last one at the party fixing the lights there is honey in the bottom of the bad years

my hands still know your kitchen summer left its fingerprints on the glass my mother taught me how to fold a grudge i left the door unlocked for a season

the cold got into the bones of the house nothing holy ever asked for my name