Verse by @ash.faraday

the birds do not know we broke up the highway hums the way you used to we were young and the light was cheap there is honey in the bottom of the bad years

i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud i keep the receipts of everything i felt my hands still know your kitchen i am learning to be a room with the curtains open

the dog still waits by the door at six the calendar keeps making promises the radio only plays the parts i remember your laugh survives in the hallway

summer left its fingerprints on the glass the floorboards keep the score we sang until the neighbors forgave us the tape hissed where your voice should be

i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the kettle screams and i let it we made a home out of almost the calendar keeps making promises

the calendar keeps making promises the dog still waits by the door at six my hands still know your kitchen