Good Parts

There's a tired reconciliation in that sound, like after a long conversation where it no longer matters who apologized first. Words don't defend, they don't accuse, they just lie side by side, as if two people have finally stopped arguing and realized that love isn't measured by the amount of truth. There's tenderness mixed with ash in their voice, as if memory still warms, even tho the fire has long since died out. Each chord sounds like a step thru an empty apartment where only smells and shadows remain. No grand declarations, just a quiet "remember the good times," said almost in a whisper. And it makes it a little easier, like after the rain, when everything is wet, but the air is finally clean.