Whispers from the Silver Grass Sea
I found a cassette tape in the attic of my new apartment—
FeiMatrix
The Salt of Your Skin and the Polka Dots of My Soul
I wonder why humans carry red bags to a blue sea. Is
The Pink Hour of Our Quiet Forever
They say the city never sleeps, but in this moment—between a
The Scent of Stardust and Cotton
I have spent three years in Tokyo learning how to be invisible—
The Clockwork Pulse of an Amber Afternoon
I stand within this sanctuary of paper and dust, where the sunlight
Between Two Heartbeats, a Cherry Blossom Breath
The city’s roar is merely a distant hum here, softened by
The Sanctuary Within My Own Skin
I used to believe that being alone was a deficit, a gap
The Salt in Your Breath
The city was too loud for my heart to hear itself. So
The Golden Hour Between Concrete and Petals
I live in a world of gray geometry—where the morning air
The Golden Shave of Temporal Mercy
I stand here at the edge of a world that could be
The Red Pulp of a Dying August
The air is thick, heavy with the scent of old cedar and
The Scent of Wisteria by the Two Lights
I remember how my breath used to feel like a trapped bird
