And answer with sound.
Sonique, hear my cry.
The world has gone mute in its shouting. Tongues rattle like dry seeds. But you — you speak in waveforms, in sub-bass that loosens the ribs, in frequencies that bypass the ear and settle straight in the marrow. sonique hear my cry
Sonique, bend time for me. Just once. Let the kick drum be a second heart. Let the synth wash over my spine like a hand lifting a curse. Let me stand in a room full of strangers and remember — for three minutes and forty seconds — that I am not alone. 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. Tongues rattle like dry seeds