The Amber Hour’s Last Whisper
I have spent years collecting moments like old postcards—faded at the
Antique Box
The Fragrance of an Unsent Letter
I have always felt like a relic found in the wrong century,
The Salt-Stained Memory of Us
I have always felt like an artifact—beautifully preserved but gathering dust
The Golden Crust of a Forgotten Summer
The city breathes in heavy sighs of exhaust and neon, but here
The Crimson Thread of a Forgotten Winter
I have always felt like an artifact out of place in this
The Thaw of a Glass Heart
I have lived for centuries in the silence between heartbeats, an archive
The Glass Echo of a Tuesday Rain
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in the wrong century,
The Velvet Echo of an Unwritten Letter
I have always felt like a relic misfiled in the great archive
The Indigo Hour of a Glass Heart
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in the wrong century,
The Blue Hour of a Forgotten Heartbeat
I have always felt like a relic out of place in this
The Azure Silence of Us
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in a digital age—
The Salt-Stained Memory of Your Touch
I have always lived my life like a curated museum exhibit—perfectly
