The Architecture of a Single Touch
I have forgotten the names of colors. In this city, life is
The Quiet Hum of Us
The city outside my window is a blur of cold neon and
Where My Heart Learns to Bloom Again
I left the city when my spirit felt like a wilted fern
The Glass Heart's Rain-Slicked Thaw
I am made of fractures and frozen light, a delicate mosaic held
The Heat Beneath My Fingertips
The city air is always too cold, a sterile wind that tastes
The Algorithm of a Heartbeat in Neon Rain
I am an echo trapped in high-resolution skin, my existence rendered by
The Ivory Resonance of a Concrete Heartbeat
I have spent years treating my skin as an exhibition space—layering
Neon Pulse: The Gravity of You
Rain slams against the glass—a rhythmic assault! I’m drowning in
The Luminescence of Quiet Belonging
I have spent years perfecting the art of being an island in
Synesthesia of a Single Touch
The city is too loud—sirens, subway screeches, the relentless hum of
The Warmth We Carry Home
I used to think love was a grand architecture—lofty promises and
Liquid Diamonds & Cold Sheets
I used to think love was a slow burn, something you nurtured
