The record spins, scratches in the groove evoke forgotten echoes.
Looping, looping... as if time itself had stumbled,
mere seconds stretching into eternity, repeating those notes —
bittersweet, like memories that fade but never really depart.
The melody, a ghost lingering in the background, whispers of time.
Dreams caught in rhythms unbroken, yet unspoken.
Echoes of laughter, of sorrow, of silence
merging into an unformed symphony of one’s own making.
When will the needle find its rest?