@cherrycarry
A foreign city at night. Neon brushstrokes on skyscraper canvases. The 44th floor hums with live music and clinking glasses — a symphony of transience
On the railing: an ashtray of cigarette butts
Ash — the ghost of moments you can’t reclaim
City lights — pulsating with promises of a thousand more nights like this
And in between? Me. Suspended where ephemeral meets eternal
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