At the library table, I opened a novel and a flattened leaf slipped out, pale as held breath. The date stamps stepped back through years, a small archipelago of afternoons. The clock ran a minute fast. Somewhere a page turned, soft as cloth.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
At the library table, I opened a novel and a flattened leaf slipped out, pale as held breath. The date stamps stepped back through years, a small archipelago of afternoons. The clock ran a minute fast. Somewhere a page turned, soft as cloth.