P.H. Low | The Will of the God of Music

You hear the door open as if in dreaming. Back when you were a conservatory student, you chewed a third of a melatonin tablet every night—to keep yourself from snapping awake before sunup, chest tight, your head still achy with exhaustion. Now, mornings are difficult: your eyelids weighted, sliding; thick grey wool between your temples. Your body drifting in a warm, slow sea. | ©2023 by P.H. Low. Narrated by Paul Boehmer. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices