He once told me about his love for lyrics. How the words spoke to him like poetry.
I would often wonder about his playlist and the ghosts who lived there. The faces he saw and the voices he heard. The soundtrack to a thousand tragic endings,real or imagined.
The first time i saw him,i noticed how haunted his eyes were. And i was drawn to him,in the way a melody draws a crowd to the dance floor. Pulled by invisible strings.
Now i wonder if i am one of those ghosts-if i am somewhere,drifting between those notes. I hope i am. I hope whenever my song plays,i am there,whispering in his ear
- soundtracks // memories by lang leav
