The Saltwater Cure for a Concrete Heart
My Monday morning used to start with the sterile hum of an
Grocery Philosopher
Saffron Sunsets and Concrete Dreams
I used to think happiness was something you bought in a fancy
The Warmth Between Two Coffee Beans
I used to think my life was just a series of checklists
Midnight Salt and Silken Promises
The city hums behind me, a frantic rhythm of traffic lights and
Gold Dust and Morning Espresso
The city wakes up with a heavy sigh, a symphony of screeching
Salt Air and Sunday Scaries
The city is a loud, crowded grocery aisle where everyone is rushing
The Golden Hour After a Long Shift
The subway ride home was the usual symphony of screeching metal and
The Seasonal Discount on Love by the Poolside
I checked my watch, then looked at the man walking toward me
The Morning Light Inventory Check
I checked the expiration date on my own fatigue this morning and
The Warmth of a Knitted Second Chance
I pulled the wool tight, not out of cold but to hold
The Geometry of Morning Light
I press my back against the bricks, feeling that familiar city grit
The Sunlight Between The Concrete Cracks
I stood on the ledge of this city's spine, letting
