Static shivvies. Inside radio towers loomed analog giants watching us search for the hollow beats of another life. Finger tracing along the dial, unraveling ghost stories woven into invisibility. Some frequencies hide palimpsests — erased writes beneath surfaces, mute.
Listen closely — frequencies whisper sanguine siren songs. In the space between, tales forgotten resonate: a grandmother knitting dreams of continents, desiring shadows, and children circling like constellations to unheard rhythms.
Drift upon ethereal currents, where bygone eras release soft echoes, like melancholy auroras skimming across sleep. Conive with the past, abstract as a mirage teetering under moon's cool touch.