I walk with static on the station,
the hum a kind of meditation.
Noise feels softer than your favorite songs.
I see you sometimes in reflections,
or hear you in wrong inflections.
The way a stranger says my name feels wrong.
The moonlight pulls across the ceiling,
where once I traced the shape of feeling.
Now I just trace patterns, dusk to dawn.
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 4:14 AM UTC
I walk with static on the station,
the hum a kind of meditation.
Noise feels softer than your favorite songs.
I see you sometimes in reflections,
or hear you in wrong inflections.
The way a stranger says my name feels wrong.
The moonlight pulls across the ceiling,
where once I traced the shape of feeling.
Now I just trace patterns, dusk to dawn.
