
Things I Never Said to the Window
The glass remembers every word you whispered to it in the dark, long after your voice had faded into the hum of the refrigerator.
Short pieces from the inner world — memory, dreams, loneliness, hope. One sitting each.

The glass remembers every word you whispered to it in the dark, long after your voice had faded into the hum of the refrigerator.


The city remembers the weight of your absence, yet waits for the silence to fill its old contours once more.

Carry the weight of a thousand forgotten streets within your ribs and let the rain wash clean the maps of every love you've ever …

A quiet return to a childhood home where the rain only falls when someone is ready to listen.

Let us walk together through the quiet rain where your grandmother's hands remain the only map to a world that never stopped spin…

The static between stations hums a lullaby only you recognize, whispering your name in the quiet spaces of a rain-slicked city.

In the quiet hush between waking and dreaming, you find letters that never were sent, addressed to a stranger who may yet become …