
Where the Eagles Fly
Dear Diary, Tonight, music did that thing again. That thing, that thing, that thing. It slipped in quietly, no grand entrance, just a few tender notes. And suddenly I wasn’t here anymore. I was there. In that other time. With that old version of me. The one who felt everything first. How does it do that? How do a handful of chords unlock entire rooms inside the chest? Rooms I had sealed....








