🜂  
A sonic rupture. Raw, analog, impulsive.
Fuzz in your teeth. Ghosts in the wires.
Feedback bites like memory — and never fades.

— Recorded nowhere. Heard everywhere.

Teeth in the Speaker

🜂  
She left no words.
Only air, and something warm in it.”
The Scent of Her Summer is a memory trapped in sunlight —
a breath that refuses to fade.
The room still holds her shape.
The silence still smells like her.

A faded groove. A slow echo.
An absence, sweet and unspoken.

— Recorded on nothing. Played back on skin.

The Scent of Her Summer

🜂
You never touched her again — but your body didn’t accept that.
Static Kisses isn't a memory.
It’s a survival reflex. A nerve flare.
The body, refusing silence, rewrites the story:
a final kiss imagined mid-collapse,
a hallucination with heat and feedback.
She’s gone. But your skin still screams for her.
This isn’t what happened.
It’s what your hands invented to pretend it ended right.
→ One last kiss. Loud enough to forget she left without one.

—
Recorded on skin. Played back through chaos.

Static Kisses

🜂
Ashes in Bloom
A love that burned so bright it couldn't grow.
Now the flowers live in smoke, and silence wears her scent.
Every trace is scorched, but somehow still blooming.
— Recorded in the ruins. Echoes linger.

Ashes in Bloom

Walk Through the Feedback
A basement still ringing.
She left, but the sound stayed.
Every wall remembers.
Every chord stings.

— Recorded in silence. Played too loud.

Teeth in the Speaker

Ely_ah

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