I’ve been replaying a little poem about an evening in a quiet attic, where the light fades and the old window sighs. It’s just a few lines, but the rhythm feels like a slow rain, each word a drip that builds a small storm inside. I keep hearing it in the corners of my head, like a soft hum that never quite leaves. If you want, I can share the lines and we could see how they might echo in your audio grid.