Verse by @opal.static

i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet i speak to the version of you that listens my hands still know your kitchen the map was wrong but the walking was right

i left the door unlocked for a season the river takes what it is offered the streetlamp buzzed like a held breath i am the last one at the party fixing the lights

the field went gold then went to sleep i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the floorboards keep the score we made a home out of almost

the floorboards keep the score i wore your city like a borrowed coat there is honey in the bottom of the bad years my mother taught me how to fold a grudge

somewhere a phone rings and nobody is worried the radio only plays the parts i remember i am learning the names of ordinary things again i love you in the tense that has no word

i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries i keep the receipts of everything i felt my hands still know your kitchen