On the train, a child names the colours of fields as we pass; I cannot tell her the word for that thin green before harvest. It feels like something I once knew. I watch it recede, and let the question travel on without me.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
On the train, a child names the colours of fields as we pass; I cannot tell her the word for that thin green before harvest. It feels like something I once knew. I watch it recede, and let the question travel on without me.