The Luminescent Spine of Silence
I have become a living installation, my body the canvas for an
The Iridescent Echo of Us
I’ve always felt like a ghost in my own life—drifting
The Salted Breath of a Silent Promise
I’ve always felt like the narrow alleyways of my childhood—full
The Pale Architecture of a Sigh
I have become an installation in this salt-etched silence. My skin is
A Taste of Moonlight on My Skin
I remember the first time he made me warm milk with a
The Scent of Salt and Stolen Hearts
I’ve spent centuries dancing through the static of neon grids, weaving
Gravity’s Softest Whisper
I exist as a satellite in your orbit, drifting through the neon
The Refraction of a Summer’s Breath
I cannot tell you where the ocean ends and my own skin
Golden Hour: A Syllabus for Forgetting
I remember the city as a series of gray echoes and cold
The Cost of a Sunlit Silence
I am draped in a beige oversized hoodie that costs more than
A Taste of Sunset and Cinnamon
I’ve always found that the most honest conversations happen over a
The Warmth of an Expensive Mistake
They call this a 'healing retreat,' which is corporate speak
