The hardwood underneath my back is a ballad
It is listing a long letter of words along my spine
all related to missing something
I arch my back to release the air so I can create more space for you.
You left me on a Tuesday
and I can't recall what day it is now but I know you're gone and the days have passed like the sun shining through a glass house, sort of beautiful, sort of broken
Let's be honest
You said it was you but we know it was me
My wool socks remind you of your grandfather
I hardly ever write
I drink wine far too often for one human and of course,
My lips never quite kissed you well enough
Who wants well enough
Nobody and I don't blame you
I blame myself because I spent 1563 nights complaining about dishes
Who the **** would wanna live like that
I swear I tried, I guess