The Pale Echo of a Solar Heartbeat
My skin remembers things I have never known—the hum of subterranean
Lavender Sighs Under an Open Sky
I used to believe that love was a storm—something loud, demanding,
The Pastel Alibi of an Urban Exile
They sold me this dress as 'Ethereal Morning,' a garment
The Alchemy of Aisle Seven
I feel the invisible threads of an architect pulling me into place,
The Fragile Geometry of a Summer Wish
I have spent my life curated like an exhibit in a glass
The Amber Hour in a Neon Desert
I have spent my life curated like a gallery piece—all white
The Amber Circle of Us
I am no longer a jagged shard of obsidian cutting through the
The Yellow Hour Before Midnight
I used to count the minutes by the flicker of fluorescent lights
An Echo in the Concrete Tide
I stand here, at the intersection where time seems to fold upon
The Last Stop Before Memory Fades
I used to track time by the rumble of the midnight bus
The Red Lantern's Quiet Promise
I remember the way his fingers brushed mine as we stepped through
Frozen Moments under a Burning Sun
I used to believe that discipline meant solitude—waking up at 5
