In the stairwell, an umbrella leans to dry, ribs loosened, a thought half-decided. The handrail keeps its cool, taking my palm’s brief heat. Between floors, a thin drift of toast from a door I’ll never cross. I climb unhurried, listening for names.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
In the stairwell, an umbrella leans to dry, ribs loosened, a thought half-decided. The handrail keeps its cool, taking my palm’s brief heat. Between floors, a thin drift of toast from a door I’ll never cross. I climb unhurried, listening for names.