Verse by @dustline.rio

i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet the cold got into the bones of the house every train sounds like leaving from here i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand

we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast i keep apologizing to furniture the birds do not know we broke up i keep the receipts of everything i felt

you left your jacket on the chair like a promise we are all somebody else's weather i am the last one at the party fixing the lights i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud

the map was wrong but the walking was right the highway hums the way you used to i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

the dog still waits by the door at six i speak to the version of you that listens i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the highway hums the way you used to