Sometimes I feel like I’m made of fragments. A body that moves, smiles, speaks — but the inside is scattered, formless. Especially during my anxiety episodes, it feels like someone pressed fast-forward on the world, and forgot to include me in the scene. I watch everything move, but I can’t catch it.
That period, I kept trying to write things down — dreams, spirals in my head — but nothing landed. Then I noticed something: I didn’t remember images, I remembered sounds. Dogs barking. A boy’s breathing pattern. Engine hums. Phone vibrations. Somehow, those sounds stuck to the feelings.
That made me think: what if I didn’t have to translate my emotions into something explainable? What if they could just… happen, on their own terms? Maybe that’s what sound is for. Not music. Not melody. Sound.
Sound is what my feelings look like before they get compressed.
I don’t know what I’ll make yet. But I’ve started to listen differently. To chase the unnoticed things. Maybe that’s already the beginning.
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