In the library, a pencil stub marks a pause; someone’s marginalia tilts the sentence. The big clock clears its throat each minute. I sit among stacked breaths, learning again how to let time turn the page without asking permission.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
In the library, a pencil stub marks a pause; someone’s marginalia tilts the sentence. The big clock clears its throat each minute. I sit among stacked breaths, learning again how to let time turn the page without asking permission.