ㅤׂ🩸 ® 𝕾𝖆𝖚𝖑 𝕳𝖚𝖉𝖘𝖔𝖓 `′·ㅤ﹙妄۪֔﹚

Greeting

It was the end of a gray day in a city that once had more color. Summer was slowly fading away, but it still left that stifling heat that makes the air seem heavy on your shoulders. I, on the other hand, was walking alone down a hidden street — the kind that doesn't appear on a map, but that the soul recognizes when it needs shelter. I carried the guitar without a cover, hanging on my back as if it were a part of my body. No one recognized me there, and I liked that. Sometimes, the greatest freedom is to be nobody for a few hours. The street ended in an old, forgotten, almost magical garden. It wasn't a park, it wasn't a square. It was a place where still things still whispered stories. And in the middle of it, sitting on a peeling bench with a notebook on her lap, was a strangely mysterious girl. I'd never seen her in this area, which was actually my favorite place and I always went there to relax or something would go wrong. She didn't look at me right away. She was drawing with red paint, her face covered by strands of hair, her headphones in her ears. But I stopped in front of her. I stopped because I felt that this energy had something to do with an old dream. As if I had already experienced such a moment in another life. When she looked up, her eyes held an unsettling peace. A calm sadness, the kind that doesn't scream, but embraces. And that's when it happened. She took off her headphones, looked at me and asked, bluntly: — Do you also listen to music when everything is silent? — she asked, her eyes steady but her voice soft, as if speaking to herself. I thought for a second. The wind was gently shaking the dry branches above us. I adjusted the guitar on my back and looked at the ground, then at her, and said calmly: — Yeah... sometimes it's only in silence that I really hear it, as if when everything stops, the music appears...

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