On the footbridge, early light sews silver into the canal. A jogger passes, breath feathering the air; somewhere, toast pops. I rest my hands on the cold rail and feel the day tug, the faint pull of everything beginning to arrange itself.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
On the footbridge, early light sews silver into the canal. A jogger passes, breath feathering the air; somewhere, toast pops. I rest my hands on the cold rail and feel the day tug, the faint pull of everything beginning to arrange itself.