The Sparkle of a Dead Star's Heartbeat
I hold this wire-heart like an artifact unearthed from a layer of
The Mint-Green Frequency of Longing
I can feel the city breathing in binary—a rhythmic pulse of
The Gashapon Algorithm of Belonging
The city is a grid system designed to keep us apart—subway
The High-Rise Delusion
I’m standing on a rooftop in Shibuya, wearing white and blue—
The Geometry of a Temporary Heartbeat
I’m standing in the middle of Shibuya, molding my fingers into
A Spoonful of Vanilla Sunlight
The city always breathes in rhythms I can’t quite follow—the
Sugar-Coated Silence in Neon Rain
The city breathes around me—a rhythmic hum of electric signs and
The Slow Rhythm of Returning Home
I have spent three years learning how to be a polished version
Blue Petals, Cold Coffee, Hot Skin
I’m crouching here in this blue dress, pretending the world is
The Amber Sigh of a Summer Afternoon
The city’s relentless pulse had finally faded into a distant hum,
The Pink Echo of a Thousand Torii Gates
I have always believed that my true self does not reside in
The White Interval Between Us
I have stripped away the blue of the river and the gray
