ChapterSixty-Two
Private Message | EchoZone Internal Chat
From: DeadStrings
To: StringTheory27
Date: May 18th, 1997, 2:06 PM
Subject: Re: Park
Why doyou get to name the dog?
Was there some invisible clause in our correspondence that said the person with the best curated playlists automatically inherits the right to name other people’s future pets?If so, that’s a power move.And an unfair one, considering how your taste could make even a broken toaster feel something.
But seriously—why do you get to name him?Just because I said I might get a dog doesn’t mean I’ve already handed over naming rights.That feels like giving away the chorus of a song before you’ve even written the first verse.Maybe I want to name him something ridiculous.Something without layers of meaning or melancholic backstory.Maybe something like “Gary.”Or “Clive.”
You know, a name that sounds fine in your head but turns into a mild crisis when you have to shout it across a park.
Then again, I think I’m getting to know you well.My guess is that you’ll probably name him something with meaning.Something that sounds like an inside joke wrapped in a poem no one else gets.You’d call him “Ballad,” and pretend it’s casual.
But if I do get a dog—and I’m still on the fence—it won’t be because I need something new just for the sake of it.That would be unfair to the dog and dishonest to myself.It has to mean something.Companionship, maybe.Or a reminder that life can still surprise you in small, quiet ways.Like a goofy Great Dane trotting through a park and making someone think of you.
Also—yes.I’d take a song right now.One of those low-simmer tracks.Gentle but not numb.Like resilience wearing headphones.
You know the kind I mean.You always do.
ChapterSixty-Three
Private Message | EchoZone Internal Chat
From: StringTheory27
To: DeadStrings
Date: May 18th, 1997, 2:18 PM
Subject: Re: Re: Park
You don’t geta dog named Clive.That’s how we lose friends, DeadStrings.That’s how trust erodes.Do not, I repeat, do not name him Clive.
But fine—maybe I overstepped.Maybe I assumed naming privileges too early.You’re right.You haven’t even brought the dog into your life yet, and here I am assigning him poetic baggage like he’s a metaphor in motion.
Maybe you need someone who doesn’t come with metaphors.Just four legs, a wagging tail, and a look that says: Whatever this life is, I’m in it with you.
So, for now, no dog naming.Just this:
“These Days” —Nico
It’s quiet.A little sad, but not bleak.It’s the sound of someone being honest with themselves for the first time in a while.
Nico sings like she’s sifting through memory rather than trying to change it.Her voice doesn’t tremble, but it lingers—as if each word is a moment she’s tried to forget and failed.The guitar doesn’t push forward.It drifts, like someone pacing through the past without knowing what they’re looking for.
It just leaves space.For silence.For remembering.For accepting that some things won’t be fixed—and maybe they don’t have to be.
It’s not about letting go.It’s about living alongside everything you once held too tightly.
Play it if you feel like you're standing in the middle of something ending—or maybe beginning—and you’re not sure which it is yet.
