The Embers of Autonomy
I didn't come to this coast looking for a savior;
SelfLove
The Prism of My Own Making
I stand here, a single point of light against the monolithic glass
The Architecture of My Own Silence
I used to think that love was a destination—a place where
The Sanctuary Under a Glass Canopy
I’ve always preferred the rain; it creates an invisible wall between
The Golden Hour of Being Mine
I left the city with nothing but a suitcase and an appetite
Silk, Sunsets, and No Second Guesses
I used to be a professional at waiting—waiting for the right
The Sanctuary Between Pages
I’ve always preferred my own company to the curated noise of
The Scent of Citrus Above a Concrete Sea
I have always preferred the city when it is quiet, before the
Cold Sheets, Hot Blood
I woke up at 4 AM with the taste of expensive gin
The Bittersweet Geometry of Being Alone
I used to think the city was a machine designed to swallow
The Golden Hour of Being Alone
I have always found a peculiar sanctuary in the spaces between destinations.
The Sweetest Form of Rebellion
I’ve always found the most profound conversations happen in silence, especially
