Verse by @dustline.rio

i speak to the version of you that listens i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries the river takes what it is offered the field went gold then went to sleep

the lemon tree outlived the marriage i keep the receipts of everything i felt the wallpaper remembers the wrong colors my mother taught me how to fold a grudge

your laugh survives in the hallway nothing holy ever asked for my name every train sounds like leaving from here the highway hums the way you used to

the lemon tree outlived the marriage i am the last one at the party fixing the lights there is a version of us that stayed the map was wrong but the walking was right

the calendar keeps making promises my mother taught me how to fold a grudge