a new building goes up. loads of work, lots of confusion. life goes on. the new building gets its first rain. the sun belts down on it. the people that admired it at first, get used to the colossal structure. they too come to terms with its existence. spits and garbage everywhere. its taken for granted, its there, not going anywhere. the years pass on. the foundations weaken. erosion from all directions. then an earthquake comes. the building is no more. people remind themselves of the fading silhouette. fading none the less.
life goes on. the sky-scape changes. life goes on.
if building could walk.
i'd go up to the oldest one of the lot, sit on the steps. ask how the landscape changed. smell the musky dampness. fill the lungs with asbestos. search for the cobwebs. open drawers that haven't been opened in ages, then smelling the fingers, that rusty smell.
the problem is, people forget. a new shiny ball is not so new and shiny as time passes. its not just me. its us. same shit different asshole.
its not good that this year is full of shit and assholes.
Memoirs of 2019
4 years ago
3 comments:
sigh.
Buildings should talk - not all the time, just when you need them to.
You really should blog more often. Barring the last two paragraphs, this was beautiful wistfulness at play.
The building was torn down.The girl looked up at the sky and tells him, you know,see that spot in the sky.I used to sit somwhere out there,when the building was there.Sit there and look down at people,who used to look up at me.Just like the way I am looking up now.Now that memory is just a patch of the blue sky.
Post a Comment