Verse by @sable.crown

every train sounds like leaving from here the sky was the color of an unopened letter i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud the sky was the color of an unopened letter

the floorboards keep the score there is honey in the bottom of the bad years i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the cold got into the bones of the house

i put the whole year in one suitcase every train sounds like leaving from here the map was wrong but the walking was right you left your jacket on the chair like a promise

we sang until the neighbors forgave us your laugh survives in the hallway i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet

i buried the argument in the yard my hands still know your kitchen my hands still know your kitchen the mirror learned my face by accident

my hands still know your kitchen i keep the receipts of everything i felt