The Amber Hour of Waiting
I have always been a creature of the periphery, watching life unfold
Terminal Chronicler
The Last Train to a Summer We Almost Forgot
I always thought love was like the express train—fast, loud, and
The Golden Hour of Our Quiet Return
I used to think love was like the city's last
The Aftertaste of August at 11 PM
I used to believe that love was a train you had to
The Shore Where We Finally Arrived
I remember the way you looked at me through the window of
The Last Train to a Pink Summer
I used to think love was like the 11:45 PM bus—
The Temperature of a Shared Silence
The concrete of the sidewalk still holds onto today's heat,
The Red Ribbon at Route 402
I have spent three years watching the last bus pull away from
The Lavender Hour Before Midnight
I always preferred the park at this hour, when the city'
The Afterglow of a Rainy Tuesday
I always arrive at the terminal just as the last bus exhales
The Last Train to Kyoto, a Promise Kept in Silk
I used to believe that time was a linear track—a train
The Blue Hour Between Two Heartbeats
I used to be like the 11:45 PM bus from Central
