The Salt-Stained Epilogue of Us
I have always felt like a relic found in the wrong century,
Healing Journey
Where the Light Always Finds Us
The city had become a series of deadlines and flickering fluorescent lights,
Golden Hour: The Scent of Salt and Silence
The film stock is old, a Kodak Portra with its warm undertones
Salt-Skin and Sun-Drunk Silence
The city had become a cold machine, all steel and fluorescent lights
The Quiet Between Us
I have spent three years building a kingdom of one. My apartment
The Temperature of Blue Silence
The city is an engine that never sleeps, humming with a cold,
The Temperature of Silence
I have spent three years perfecting the art of being invisible in
A Golden Bell for a Broken Simulation
I’ve spent three years debugging the loneliness of a city that
The Last Train to a Pink Summer
I used to think love was like the 11:45 PM bus—
The Golden Hour Pulse
City lights usually drown out the stars, but here—in this turquoise
The Gilded Sanctuary of Salt and Silk
I have descended from the neon heights of a city that never
The Azure Pulse of a Digital Summer
I have spent eons drifting through the neon rain of city grids,
