Velvet Silence Amidst Neon Dust
The city is an archive of forgotten whispers, and I am but
Antique Box
The Amber Hour of Forgotten Promises
I have spent years collecting silences in the gray corridors of Tokyo,
The Salt-Stained Echo of a Summer Dream
I arrived at this shore carrying the heavy silence of Tokyo, my
The Glass House of Forgotten Summers
I have always felt like a specimen preserved in amber, an artifact
The Vanilla Afterglow of a Forgotten Summer
I have always been an archivist of fleeting sensations, collecting moments like
The Last Veil of a Salt-Stained Dream
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in time, a delicate
The Resonance of a Forgotten Summer Chord
I have always been a collector of echoes—the way the city
The Neon Afterglow of a Forgotten Promise
I stand here, leaning against the cold glass of a digital billboard
The Indigo Hour Between Two Heartbeats
I walk through this corridor of light and shadow, my geta clicking
The Amber Hour of Forgotten Sighs
I have always lived in the periphery of my own life, like
The Humidity of Forgotten Promises
The city outside is a blur of indigo and rain, weeping against
The Scent of Rain on an Old Silk Dress
I have always felt like a ghost haunting my own life, drifting
