You, Me, and the Cities

The city hums,

its pulse beating in electric veins.

Skyscrapers stretch,

their glass faces catching fleeting moments—

a thousand lives reflected,

none quite ours.

You and I,

threaded through the chaos,

walking streets where echoes linger—

the faint laughter of strangers,

the scrape of heels on stone.

Each corner turns

into something almost familiar,

yet always unknown.

The city whispers secrets in its alleys,

where ivy crawls up forgotten walls,

and the scent of damp asphalt

mingles with dreams of yesterday.

Do you hear it too?

The weight of stories

etched into bricks and mortar,

holding us close and pushing us away.

In crowded trains,

we’re together yet apart,

hands grazing in the sway of motion.

Above, neon signs blink and buzz,

their glow falling soft on your face—

a portrait in light and shadow.

I memorize the moment

as the city shifts around us.

We climb the hills where the city meets the stars,

the skyline sprawling, endless,

a tapestry of windows,

each one a life

we’ll never know.

But I know you,

and that feels enough.

The cities will change—

their bones rebuilt,

their streets renamed,

their skyline reshaped.

But I see you in every corner,

in every spark of light.

We are the cities.

Their stories are ours—

ever moving,

ever reaching,

alive.