“Do you still dream in water?” she asks.
He nods—“only when it rains inside.”
Their words drift, slow like signal loss,, soft clicks between heartbeats.
A drone hums overhead,
its shadow stroking their faces.
“Are we free now?” she whispers.
He laughs, small, broken. “We’re just less afraid.”
They share one headphone,
listening to the city’s pulse—
loops of breath,
echoes of what could’ve been
“Hold me,” she says.
“I am,” he answers,
“in the static.” magoski
Basinski's compositions are as beautiful as they are haunting. A perfect record to put on, turn the lights down, and let yourself drift away. sentient meat