Author: Signe Holt | Date: 26 November
I write songs I’ve never heard before. When I hum them, people stop walking. Birds fall from the sky. Clocks skip beats.
I dreamt of the Maiden touching my piano. She didn’t press keys—she erased them. She said, “Only the sorrowful remember correctly.”
I asked who she lost. She answered with a sound I’ve only heard once: The first breath of my son when he was born.
But I’ve never had children.