_Recorded by… Chronicle himself._

How was I born?

That’s a question that I ask myself quite often.

For you see, I live in paper. Some could say I’m the forgotten letters upon a page. Others have called my name from completed work. I’m always there.

Whenever someone plays with their pen, they are singing their words on me. And I keep those words close to my heart—

for how can a paper speak and truly sing, when there are no instruments to speak its song?

I am always there. The unseen writer, and I will be there, if you ever forget. I know you and now you know me.

Care to talk?