Verse by @tide.mercer

i buried the argument in the yard i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand you can hear the whole town breathing at four am the tape hissed where your voice should be

i speak to the version of you that listens i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the dog still waits by the door at six i keep the porch light on for nobody

i counted every streetlight home i am the last one at the party fixing the lights i saved the last cigarette for a braver night we are all somebody else's weather

i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet i wore your city like a borrowed coat we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast there is a version of us that stayed