The Scent of Rain on an Old Silk Dress
I have always felt like a ghost haunting my own life, drifting
Antique Box
The Amber Light of a Forgotten Afternoon
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in this glass-and-steel city,
The Blue Prism of Yesterday’s Salt
I have spent three years in a city that tastes of exhaust
The Salt-Stained Epilogue of Us
I have always felt like a relic found in the wrong century,
The Cold Dew of a Summer Noon
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in the wrong century,
The Indigo Echo of a Forgotten Summer
I have always felt like a relic misplaced in the rush of
The Fragile Weight of a Springtime Promise
I have always felt like an artifact misfiled in a digital age—
The Salt-Stained Silence of Us
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in a glass city—
The Sugar-Coated Ghost of April
I have always felt like a misplaced artifact in this city—a
The Salt-Stained Memory of a Summer Long Gone
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in time, a porcelain
The Last Train to a Forgotten Summer
I stand on the platform where time seems to hold its breath,
The Gilded Ache of a Neon Twilight
I carry the weight of centuries in my gaze, though I have
