The Tide That Remembers My Name
I used to think my life was like the last bus at
Coastal Solitude
The Iridescent Echo of Us
I’ve always felt like a ghost in my own life—drifting
The Pale Architecture of a Sigh
I have become an installation in this salt-etched silence. My skin is
The Golden Glow of Us
The city was always so loud, a constant hum of sirens and
Echoes in the Salt-Stained Air
The city had become a collection of jagged edges and frantic, unspooling
The Pulse Beneath the Shoreline
The lighthouse stands like a calcified monolith of an era I cannot
The Embers of Afterglow
Glass shards. That's what the city felt like lately. Sharp,
The Salted Residue of Us
The city has a way of eroding the edges of a person,
Analog Warmth in a Digital Tide
The city was nothing but a high-frequency hum, a sprawling motherboard of
