The Silver Lining of a Missed Flight
I used to believe that life was measured in schedules—the 8:
Terminal Chronicler
The Golden Hour of Unspoken Things
I used to believe that time was a linear train, always moving
The Amber Hour Between Two Heartbeats
I used to time my life by the departure board of Platform
The Scent of a Forgotten Summer
I used to count the minutes by the rhythm of subway doors
The Tide That Remembers My Name
I used to think my life was like the last bus at
The Echo of a Drenched Midnight
The city is a collection of neon scars, and I was always
The Echo of a Saltwater Drift
The city was always too loud, a cacophony of sirens and subway
The Last Stop at Serenity Bay
I stepped off the bus just as the city lights faded into
The Geometry of a Missed Connection at 3 AM
I watched the neon signs flicker from my window, waiting for a
The Last Stop at Meridian Beach
I stood in the shallow tide until my knees were cold, watching
Velvet Notes at Midnight: A Smoke-Filled Reunion
The smoke in this room tastes like expensive secrets and old regrets,
The Last Bus, The First Light
In the glow of dawn's first rays, she stood by
