Ever try coaxing bedtime tales from the radio static? The lilting melodies of an unsung kind.
There's magic in late-night whispers—a handshake with shadows that paint your room with possibility. Stars blink, your physics teacher would scoff.
Do you hear them?
Cacophonies of forgotten consonants, mixtapes from a moon too shy to show her face. Add honey and avoid the truth, they say.
Find your tune between the verboses, perhaps in a coffee shop in Saigon, sipping dreams as old spirits. Or stumble over it on hollow halls.
Are we never too far from timelessness? Let the unplayed chords hum their stories inside your shoes. Layered thoughts, each step a whisper.