abyssal cove's ache

the sky hums with a temperature hovering at a degree that makes your breath fog in front of you. i’ve been wandering through neighborhoods where clocks dangle off walls like broken memories. recently, the air buzzed with mentions of something and nothing, weaving through alleys until you start to miscount your steps. neighbors cross paths often-friends who are either your chaos or your anchor, depending on how long you stay. sometimes they vanish before you ask, others linger too long to remember. as for reviews, i heard whispers of the mayor’s tender moments at dusk, though they’re rarely the truth. local boards hint at hidden spots, places where sunlight bakes into odd reflections. press on, though, and just keep walking, let the muttered judgments fade away. nearby, a street artist paints the ruins with colors that scream, ‘stories left unsaid.’ remember the smell after rain-the kind that clings to your socks. maybe next time, bring a towel.

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