The Architecture of a Summer Nap
I exist today as a series of soft angles and intersecting planes.
Slow Living
The Aftertaste of August at 11 PM
I used to believe that love was a train you had to
The 10-Yen Cure for Urban Boredom
I’ve spent three years climbing a corporate ladder that feels more
Ink Stains on a Glass Afternoon
I have always felt like an unposted letter, tucked away in the
The Scent of Sun-Dried Linen and Quiet Mornings
I used to think love was found in grand gestures or expensive
The Aftertaste of Warm Milk and Old Pages
I used to think the city was a place that only taught
The Scarlet Pulse of a Melting Tuesday
I stepped into the market just as time began to droop like
A Quiet Kind of Belonging
The city never truly sleeps; it only breathes in rhythms. From my
Sunlight on a Borrowed Shirt
The city below is all sirens and deadlines, but up here on
The Salt-Stained Epilogue of Us
I have always felt like a relic found in the wrong century,
Lavender Salt on Concrete Skin
City lights are distant hummingbirds, trapped in glass cages.
I carry the
Sand Between Toes and a Heartbeat in My Throat
My city life was a series of fluorescent lights and cold coffee,
