"chalkboard"

The city hums that low frequency, a forgotten melody heard best at 3 am. This is for the echoes, the scrawled memories on a fogged-up window pane, those moments caught between the dying streetlights and the rising sun. It’s a canvas for the nights you won't forget, and some you just might.

The texture of a late-night thought, rough around the edges, worn from repeated dreams. These are the faded lines of a life lived, a quiet rebellion against the pristine.

Filed under: fading memories.