I post a letter; the postbox throat swallows; the sound is blunt; I feel the small audacity of trusting paper to distance. My name in my own hand looks both certain and shy. I walk away lighter, though nothing has actually changed yet.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
I post a letter; the postbox throat swallows; the sound is blunt; I feel the small audacity of trusting paper to distance. My name in my own hand looks both certain and shy. I walk away lighter, though nothing has actually changed yet.