Verse by @wren.hollow

summer left its fingerprints on the glass every train sounds like leaving from here we are all somebody else's weather my mother taught me how to fold a grudge

the cold got into the bones of the house i am the last one at the party fixing the lights the radio only plays the parts i remember i buried the argument in the yard

the map was wrong but the walking was right the highway hums the way you used to the field went gold then went to sleep i love you in the tense that has no word