Verse by @harper.slate

i put the whole year in one suitcase i still set the table for the ghost of us the kettle screams and i let it i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

you can hear the whole town breathing at four am the radio only plays the parts i remember the dog still waits by the door at six i am learning to be a room with the curtains open

we made a home out of almost the tape hissed where your voice should be we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast we are all somebody else's weather