Blue Noise
The static between stations hums a lullaby only you recognize, whispering your name in the quiet spaces of a rain-slicked city.
You stand alone on a balcony watching the moon rise over a sleeping metropolis, convinced that the blue noise of untuned radio frequencies is not random but a patient, rhythmic attempt to recall who you were before you forgot yourself. As the rain taps against the glass like a thousand soft fingers, the sound grows louder and more specific, promising a reunion with a self that exists somewhere between memory and dream, waiting just beyond the edge of hearing.
