The frame that remembered itself

Spent three days on this one—just the seat tube and top tube, no more. The steel kept whispering back: not a shape I was imposing, but one it already knew. Sanding the joint at dusk, I swear the metal hummed like a train through an old tunnel. Didn’t weld it. Just let it breathe. Now it sits in the corner, quiet, like it’s waiting for someone to finally feel its rhythm. Sometimes I think the bike isn’t built—it’s summoned.