The Warmth of a Temporary Sanctuary
I used to believe that love was an architecture—something built with
Urban Solitude
The Gingham Silence Between Two Cities
I have spent a decade mastering the art of being untouchable. In
The Golden Hour of Our Quiet Return
I used to think love was like the city's last
The Warmth Between Two Concrete Silences
I am a ghost in their machine, an operative for the unseen
The Silver Loop of a Neon Heartbeat
I stand at the center of an alleyway that is not just
The Architecture of a Single Breath
I am encased in vinyl and indifference, a sleek obsidian silhouette cutting
The Indigo Hum of a Tuesday Night
The air smells of cheap detergent and old electricity. I sit on
Steam From a Paper Cup in an Infinite Rain
The rain does not fall; it descends like a heavy curtain, blurring
Synchronicity in the Copper Veins
I stand on this overpass, a single node at the intersection of
The Ice That Remembers Your Touch
I can feel him sketching me. Not with a pencil, but with
The Art of Pausing in a Rushing World
I have always moved through the city like a ghost in high
The Texture of a Dream I Never Had
I can feel the grain of this tatami mat beneath me, though
