Lost Springs

There are melodies that aren't just heard - they're remembered from a place that never was, as if they came from a past life, from someone else's dream that still belongs to us. For her, Eliot Rune's music didn't arrive as a discovery, but as an echo. He had died the year she was born, yet his voice seemed to know every corner of her soul. It wasn't obsession or admiration - it was recognition.

Eliot wasn't an idol. He was a brief, brilliant fire, impossible to contain. He sang what the world didn't know how to see, and with every chord, he left behind a part of himself that only a few could find. She was one of them. Not by chance, but by something deeper, older. As if fate had crossed their paths in another plane, in another story.

And though reality never let them meet, he still shows up. Not as a ghost, but as a presence - in silences that weigh differently, in notes that pierce, in the certainty that some loves defy time and are told from absence.

Lost Springs is an elegy disguised as a meeting, a letter without a sender that someone, somehow, keeps answering.