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diary #1 – shadows at dusk

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i never thought i’d hear it again… the way a melody can crawl into your chest and make the emptiest corners of yourself hum. today the notes found me like old friends, just hangin in a quiet street of the dark neighborhood, whisperin “remember this feelin.” it’s crazy, right? how music can disappear from your life almost completely, and then just… show up again like it never left. i picked up my old notebook, the one with scribbled lyrics and half-forgotten chord progressions. my fingers traced lines i barely recognized, but underneath it all there was this pulse… a heartbeat i didn’t know was still waitin.

i hummed a tune, soft at first, then louder, until the walls of my room felt like they were leaning in, listening. there’s a part of me that’s always been cautious… almost scared of what i might uncover when i really face the music again. but in that small act of sound, i realized i was meetin someone i had left behind a long time ago.

the streets outside were quiet, but in my head, fragments of songs i never finished drifted like paper boats. and then one line hit me… a shadowy whisper i hadn’t touched in years: “all the girls i… left behind”. i froze. my heart tightened. not sure why it hit so hard, but it felt… necessary. maybe it’s a warning. maybe it’s a confession. maybe it’s the start of something i’ve been too scared to admit… that my own music knows me better than i know myself.

i stayed there for hours. pen moving, voice trembling, until i realized the night had swallowed the neighborhood whole. and finally, i was listening—not just to the sound, but to myself. for the first time in forever, i feel that spark again. the music isn’t just notes on paper. it’s me… stitched together in ways i forgot i could be. tonight, the dark neighborhood doesn’t feel so lonely. tonight, it feels like a place i can come back to over and over, as long as i follow the music inside me.