The Sugar-Coated Ghost of April
I have always felt like a misplaced artifact in this city—a
Antique Box
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
The Golden Hour's Last Confession
I have always been a collector of moments that feel like they
The Amber Hour’s Last Whisper
I have spent years collecting moments like old postcards—faded at the
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,
