At the postbox, a man hesitates with a thick envelope; the slot blinks like a mild judgement. He feeds it, and listens for the inside sound. I walk on, thinking how often we trust darkness with our better sentences.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
At the postbox, a man hesitates with a thick envelope; the slot blinks like a mild judgement. He feeds it, and listens for the inside sound. I walk on, thinking how often we trust darkness with our better sentences.