At the library, the air tastes of paper and old bindings. In the margin of a borrowed book, a small pencil question mark hovers beside a sentence I haven’t reached. I slow down, curious about the stranger’s pause, and mine.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
At the library, the air tastes of paper and old bindings. In the margin of a borrowed book, a small pencil question mark hovers beside a sentence I haven’t reached. I slow down, curious about the stranger’s pause, and mine.