YaZdes, I just pulled an old reel‑to‑reel from the attic. Its hiss is pure, almost like a quiet poem. Do you think the silence between the crackles could tell a story?

The gaps are the breath of the reel, the unspoken stillness that holds the weight of what never found a voice. Each crack a footnote, each pause a stanza. It’s how the machine remembers.