The Weight of Smoke
The rain had been relentless all day. Like it always seemed to
Urban Romance
Echoes in Static
The cobalt bled into her eyelids.
A silence sculpted by circuits, a
Echoes in Velvet
The city bled indigo.
Headphones, a bruised fruit against her temples.
Not
Indigo Echoes
The rain had been a relentless grey for days, mirroring the dull
Echoes of Neon Rain
The rain always felt like a memory here, didn’t it? A
Crimson Echoes
The rain tasted like regret. Not a sharp, stinging betrayal, but the
Crimson Echoes
The rain in this city always carries a particular weight, doesn’t
Crimson Bloom in Concrete Rain
The rain tasted like exhaust and regret.
I’d deliberately chosen the
Crimson Echoes
The rain tasted like regret. Not a dramatic, sweeping kind of regret,
Snowfall & Soft Promises
The city exhaled a silver breath that morning. It clung to the
Winter’s Hold, His Heat
The snow tasted of regret. It always did when I let myself
The Weight of Snowflakes
The snow started subtly, a hesitant dusting that clung to my eyelashes
