Verse by @otis.lowlight

i keep apologizing to furniture i still set the table for the ghost of us the dog still waits by the door at six i buried the argument in the yard

the radio only plays the parts i remember the calendar keeps making promises every train sounds like leaving from here i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand

i left the door unlocked for a season the sea does not remember any of our names i keep the porch light on for nobody i speak to the version of you that listens

the mirror learned my face by accident the cold got into the bones of the house my hands still know your kitchen the sky was the color of an unopened letter

i am the last one at the party fixing the lights nothing holy ever asked for my name i left the door unlocked for a season i wore your city like a borrowed coat

i keep the receipts of everything i felt