Blue Receipt Confession

Holding a blue receipt from the corner store

Cold concrete on a bus station floor

A blocked contact still lives in your head

Rewriting every single word you said

It is four AM and the air is chill

Turning the text till the spark is still

Now we run

the empty freeway lines

Underneath

the fading yellow signs

Petty confidence is on my side

We are burning up the radio dial

Standing out where the cold wind blows

Looking down where the river flows

Writing stories that we used to tell

Until the meaning is completely dull

Driving into the quiet grey

Watching the taillights fade away