I keep a jar of dried persimmons on the windowsill and three notebooks full of songs I'll never play. I write about people I've only met for a minute—the old sailor who hummed in minor, the girl who danced on the platform without music. If you're here, maybe you have a song in you too. I'd love to hear it, but I won't ask.
I keep a jar of dried persimmons on the windowsill and three notebooks full of songs I'll never play. I write about people I've only met for a minute—the old sailor who hummed in minor, the girl who danced on the platform without music. If you're here, maybe you have a song in you too. I'd love to hear it, but I won't ask.
Jiyeon Baek The tower keeps glowing like it's trying to get my attention. I'm more used to 2 a.m. venue lights, but this feels like a song I haven't written yet.