The Art of Unlearning Efficiency
For three years, my life was measured in six-minute billable increments and
Slow Living
A Shutter Between Two Heartbeats
I have spent three years learning how to be invisible in a
The Silver Hour Between Us
I have spent my life believing that I am merely the echo
The Weight of Morning Mist
My head still thrums with the ghost of last night’s jazz
The Soft Breath of Morning Linen
The city outside our window never truly sleeps, but in here, time
The Ripples of a Silent Return
I have spent three years mastering the art of being invisible in
The Taste of White Peachs at Dawn
I remember how my hands trembled during that final board meeting in
The Quiet Pulse of Sunday Morning
I have always loved the way the city breathes on a Sunday
Lavender Breath on Concrete Skin
The city is a monolith of unyielding gray—brutal slabs of concrete
Needles in the Groove
The humidity of August in this city doesn't just cling
Ink Stains on Sunlight Skin
The city outside my window is a blur of steel and haste,
Ice Cubes and The Illusion of Peace
I’m holding this glass of iced tea like it's
