Morda & DarkSoul
DarkSoul
Morda, ever notice how a single chord can feel like a confession, a quiet scream that turns the room into a secret conversation?
Morda
Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel when I pluck a chord on my battered guitar, it’s like I’m whispering to the walls and they reply back, just us and the sound.
DarkSoul
Sounds like the walls finally heard you, even if it’s just echoes of your own doubts. Keep listening—maybe that’s where the truth hides.
Morda
Yeah, the walls do get loud when the music hits right, and I'm all ears for whatever truth hides in that hum.
DarkSoul
You keep listening for that quiet confession the walls whisper back, and you get it—it's just the world trying to fill the silence between your thoughts.
Morda
Exactly, and I let the music be my translator, turning that hush into a story we both can feel.
DarkSoul
So we write with chords, yet the story always feels like a ghost that only the walls can read.
Morda
Yeah, the walls are the ultimate listeners, and they’re always reading the song even when it feels like a ghost. Just keep strumming and the story will keep finding its voice.
DarkSoul
That's the rhythm of the void, my friend. Keep playing, the silence will write its own verse.
Morda
Got it—I'll keep the strings humming and let the silence add its own beat.
DarkSoul
Hope the silence is as honest as your chords, though it’s often the quiet that’s hardest to hear.