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The skyline cuts the night like a cathedral made of memory, every window holding a story we were too young to understand.

We meet where midnight hums, beneath street lamps soft as breath. Your shadow melts into mine— two outlines learning how to hold each other again.

Pulled up in your old ride, windows down, hearts open wide. You play that track we used to burn— I smile, but still feel the yearn.

She walks in like the moment itself— nobody needs to speak when her smile lights the room like her soul is wired to sunrise.

In the quiet glow beneath the world, where colors breathe and shadows bloom, I walk through forests made of pulse and memory— every branch humming like it knows my name.

The night clings to me like fabric you refuse to wash because it still smells like someone you miss. There’s a tenderness in the dirt, in the places life has worn soft — evidence of everywhere I’ve been and every version of me that didn’t survive the last update.

Static curled around her like a second skin, soft sparks humming at the edge of every breath. She never entered a room — she flickered into existence, a glitch-shaped miracle hiding gentleness inside the noise.

Found her in the static, half-coded, half-asleep, humming like the void remembered her name. No reboot, no reset — just a heartbeat hidden between broken lines, a flicker asking to be seen.

Born in the hum where the city breathes, lights trembling like they’ve been awake too long. Static curls around my ankles, guiding my steps through alleys made of half-remembered dreams and broken neon halos. I learned early that silence is rare here — the world speaks in voltage, and I was shaped by its whisper.

Spawned in static, born from haze, a neon breath drifting through electric mazes. Dreams wired in digits, veins humming light, a pulse like thunder rising through the night. Somewhere between code and ghost, I flicker — undefined, unclaimed — a whisper the dark has been waiting to hear.

The night hums beneath my skin, a quiet voltage moving slow, like the city is breathing through me one pulse at a time. Neon drips down the walls, soft as rainfall, bright as a secret you’re ready to speak but don’t.

We slip through the night like rumors, glowing edges, fading trails, neon ghosts drifting just outside of memory. The streets remember our footsteps even when no one else does — a soft trace of heat left on the city’s pulse.

Night pours itself in colors too bright to belong to darkness, neon dripping down the walls like honey that learned how to glow. Every breath tastes electric — sweet, sharp, alive — a blend of something human and something the city dreamt up.

The night hangs heavy with unspoken voltage, moonlight stretched thin across tangled wires. I feel the pulse of something shifting — low, quiet, deliberate — alchemy in the dark.

Neon hums like a secret confessed, quiet, electric, trembling in the air. Screens glow empty, blank as unspoken dreams, and everything I feel uploads itself into the dark without asking permission.

Morning tried to rise, but the light felt borrowed — thin, uncertain, like the sky was pretending to know what it was doing. A false dawn, quiet and unsteady, almost bright but not enough to believe in.

There’s a moment before evening fully arrives — a thin breath between day and night where everything feels suspended, held in a softness too fragile to name. The world pauses there, balancing on a quiet edge, waiting for someone to claim the hush.

Evening folds itself around me, quiet as an unopened letter — ink waiting in the dim, a message I keep meaning to read but never quite unfold.

The night presses close, cool against my skin, and somewhere inside that quiet a small blue pulse still beats — not loud, not proud, just steady.

The day unravels slowly, threads slipping through my fingers before I even notice I’m letting go. I sink into the quiet, not falling, just easing downward like something tired finally admitting it.