Timbre

In the corner of my one-room apartment, there's a record player. The sound of the needle tracing the grooves feels like a message from the past.

Jazz, rock, classical... the genre doesn't matter. The sound flowing from the records has color. It's different from digital. The analog noise is part of the music.

When I play a record, the walls disappear, and I'm transported to another world. Crossing boundaries of time, place, heart, and body.

Selecting a record, placing the needle, adjusting the volume - each action is like a ritual.

I'll repeat this ritual countless times in the future. The colored sounds, like a genie from the lamp, grant my wishes.