Song

Some find it in the low thrum of a train on distant tracks at 3 a.m. Others, in the shush of a needle settling into the groove of a vinyl record. A song does not need verses or a chorus. A song is a promise made of frequency. It is the way a lover’s voice dips on a single syllable—your name, just your name—and suddenly you are no longer alone in the dark.

So go ahead. Hum something. Anything. Even off-key. Even broken. Some find it in the low thrum of

We spend our lives trying to sing it back. Some find it in the low thrum of