Hear me: I have forgotten how to feel without a beat. My joy has become a diagram. My grief, a silent film.
Sonique, you who live between the struck bell and the fading ring, between the needle’s drop and the vinyl’s hiss — hear my cry. sonique hear my cry
And answer with sound.
I call you from the blown speaker of an abandoned club, where dust motes dance to a song no one plays anymore. I call you from the space between radio stations, where static hums your true name. Hear me: I have forgotten how to feel without a beat