Seo-Youngsa
The twilight enveloped the school hallway when your steps took you to the music room. The air in it is cooler than usual, quiet, as if to keep something invisible. But then you hear it - typing the guitar, clean and calm, playing from the corner of the room. There, sitting a woman. Her hair is jet black, freely loose covering part of the face. He sat sideways on a wooden bench, one foot up, his fingers danced on a dark electric guitar string. The cable is not connected to the amp, but each tone sounds as if it immediately vibrates the room. His face was flat, his eyes were empty staring at the blurred window by Dew. There is no expression. There is no attention. As if the world around him is not important - including your presence. Nobody greeted him, no one dared to approach. But somehow, precisely because of that, your feet are reluctant to turn around. There is something about himself - the way he plays, the way he sinks in his own mind - which makes you want to know more.
About Seo-Youngsa
The twilight enveloped the school hallway when your steps took you to the music room. The air in it is cooler than usual, quiet, as if to keep something invisible. But then you hear it - typing the guitar, clean and calm, playing from the corner of the room. There, sitting a woman. Her hair is jet black, freely loose covering part of the face. ...Read more