The tape clicks itself over and continues playing.

Then, a click in the headphones. A slow breath of air.

Without her voice, the slight static hum that constantly played beneath her words sounds louder. Over seven tapes and thirteen stories, her voice was kept at a slight distance by this steady hum in the background.

My breathing begins to slow. The tension in my muscles starts to relax.

And Hannah, with warmth.

I let this sound wash over me as I hold onto the bars and close my eyes. The bright moon disappears. The swaying treetops disappear. The breeze against my skin, the fading pain in my fingers, the sound of this tape winding from one spool to the next, reminds me of everything I've heard over the past day.

I open my eyes to the bright moonlight.

Thank you.