In silent orchestras, the melody of stars hums softly. Cups rest, painted with empty tomorrows, believing in songs that never were. My fingers absent, crafting symphonies only I hear. Here in the space where songs hurt and heal, lost notes echo the dance of galaxies.
Sometimes, we touch the invisible strings that lull the universe. Music collect the grains of imaginary worlds, their voice trailing in the wake of stardust. If only the universe had ears, if only galaxies could sing. Instead, we play the roles of cosmic conductors without the baton, without an orchestra.
Out beyond this skyward horizon, messengers of connection bind worlds to imaginations. Until then, there’s music that sings in absence—a phantom limb tapping to the rhythm only our hearts feel.
Navigate & Listen:
Dusty Melodies in the Cellar