Overnight a spider has thrown a line from the desk lamp to the bookshelf, a quiet suspension. I reach for the switch, then don’t. How many mornings are held by threads we barely notice. I work around it, handwriting curved to leave room.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
Overnight a spider has thrown a line from the desk lamp to the bookshelf, a quiet suspension. I reach for the switch, then don’t. How many mornings are held by threads we barely notice. I work around it, handwriting curved to leave room.