The most beautiful music is when you are in a strange new place, sitting down, and all of a sudden music streams out, flowing with hesitation from an old wooden door.

How can anything top that dreamlike sense? To say it is nothing sensational is a close self-expression.

I remember you, Kaia, once said: the hardest part of singing is to refrain any emotions into voices. I presume especially when they are important blocks of time, hardly exceeding two moments, each around 90 seconds, one is the start, the other morphing randomly into anything.

I imagine behind the wooden door, a fish shop, specialized in frying baby fish. The crispy, finger-sized fish, sizzling in olive oil from the Mediterranean, melted along with the wind from the Baltic Sea. Is the smell or the wind silky as strings shimmering among other winds? Can you tell which threads are the fish, voice or strings of the guitar?

My eyes were closed, and I saw you two signal to each other, both echoing some moments must be remembered.

The last two songs topped everything, day and night, moss or algae, under the Baltic clouds.

I will not go to Tallinn. I will never see Kaia, Heiki, and the guitar. This specific block is delicate; it breaks up and rises up to the Baltic clouds. Nothing captures that door, wind, or anything beyond and below.

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给我心爱的音乐专辑的情书（3）

最美妙的音乐，是当你来到一个陌生的地方，坐下，忽然附近音乐开始流淌，来自一扇老旧木门后面的室内，带着犹豫。

还有什么能超过这种梦境般的感觉？如果说那种美并非煽情，那已经贴近真实的自我表达。

记得你曾说过，Kaia，歌唱最困难的部分，是将情绪克制不在声音里。尤其当它们是生命中珍贵的片段，很难超过2个片段，每一个90秒左右。一个是初始，另一个可随机地蜕变为任何可能。

我想象着木门背后，有一家卖鱼的小店，专门炸小鱼。那些酥脆如手指大小的小鱼，被地中海的橄榄油煎炸，气味融化在波罗的海的风中。不知那味道和风是否如琴弦一般丝滑，闪烁在其他的风之间？你能分辨出哪根细线是鱼，人声，或是吉他的琴弦吗？

我闭着眼，看见你们两人彼此示意，心中默契到某些时刻必须被铭记。

最后两首歌超越了一切，昼与夜、青苔或海藻，都在波罗的海的云层之下。

我将不会前往塔林。我也永远不会再见到Kaia、Heiki和那把吉他。这特定的时光片段太过脆弱，它分裂、飘升到波罗的海的云间。没有什么能真正捕捉那扇门，那阵风，及其之上与其之下的一切。