There is no melody.
There is no recognizable form.
Only a vibration that insists, unfolding like fog over the sonic field.

Abstract composition does not seek to please.
It does not seduce.
It does not explain.
It is a body without a face, moving by intuition,
as if sound had a memory of its own
and I were merely the medium that lets it pass through.

It works with textures.
White noise filtered as if it were silk.
A low pulse that does not mark time, but breath.
And a synthetic voice that says nothing, yet says everything.

I don’t know whether this will become part of an album.
I don’t know if anyone will listen to it.
But I know that, in making it, something inside me fell into place.

Abstraction is not evasion.
It is another form of presence.
One that needs no words, no face, no story.

Only sound.
Only gesture.
Only the moment when I stop being myself
and become vibration.

Music does not have to be melodic, harmonic, or even recognizable to be beautiful.
Sometimes the most moving thing is what cannot be named: a hum, a texture, a vibration that touches something deep without asking permission.
Beauty is not in the form, but in the honesty of the gesture.
And when that gesture is born from the most intimate place, even noise can become a poem