Static Bloom
The rain always tasted like regret. Like cheap whiskey and missed connections.
Desire Line
Concrete Bloom
The concrete bled heat against my cheek. Not a comfortable warmth, more
Crimson Echoes
The rain tasted like regret.
Another night bleeding into this one, same
Verdant Echoes
The air smells like sterile metal and something wild, a damp green
Fractured Light, Burning Skin
The concrete tasted of rain and regret. Like the city itself – a
