Short work about the charm in loneliness. Please review and offer honest criticism (the constructive kind is appreciated!)
Imagine the city, the way you see it from high above, stripped of noise of traffic and people’s shouting. Coexistence of an unusual amount of concrete and glass with vacuum silence is nothing we could’ve experienced, but when you think of massive, slightly curved surface, you don’t see them any other way, but in silence and grayness. Misconceptions appear when we look at the purpose. For a multitude of buildings without end to breathe like one, we have to kill the beast, stop the pulsating, let the loneliness bind the concrete into oneness. So lonely you could hear the Earth turning. Life might not be good, but it is beautiful, you’d think.
People love hotels, hotels are charming, and people are queer. The closest you can approach beautiful. In a city of strangers, who talk in whispers and nonsenses, with new shapes, prettier because they’re new, like a greedy nihilistic child, you want everything. In front of a window on the seventh floor, ready to explore every crook of this forgotten plain before you. After the war, the soldiers return. Return, return.
To return to doubts, possibilities, desires.
To remember the days of rebellion, to be nostalgic for nostalgia for innocence. Wherever we go, we come across ourselves. Nostalgia, nostalgia. And the one for the present, if you see a future in which you are no longer here. 'Nostos' is return, 'algos' is suffering. Return must be the good part.
To be a dark silhouette fearing softly of the expansion behind the window, to be anonymous and to crave, what others are and what a person is. (Wherever we go, we come across ourselves.) Gruesome and what we are looking for.