It was a road I had never taken before. A few scattered pedestrians passed by, and solitary street lamps stood alone. Buildings that should have showcased the beauty of geometric lines appeared only grotesque now.
It wasn't the fault of emptiness—emptiness is beautiful; the unspoken feelings between people often hide in the spaces left blank. Nor was it the sky’s doing—the hues beneath the setting sun were thick and honeyed, made richer still by the slow fermentation of time, deepening until nightfall, until a new day began.
Then what was it?
Through the unfamiliar path, the broken pieces of buildings strewn across the grass, the green giant rising in the distance at the start of construction—I suddenly realized that what I was looking at was nothing but devastation.
The savagery of the modern age reveals itself in every symbol of completion.
Nature’s artistry has been replaced. But is this simply the next wave surpassing the last, or is it a slow decline, one generation worse than the one before?
一枚瓶盖从空中坠落，随之而来的是物体接触地面后产生的清脆撞击声，残余的动量促使着凹面圆状物沿着侧边缘一圈又一圈滚动着直至结束，接着万物回归到它最初的模样，什么都没有发生，也不会有什么发生。先前耳朵听到的清脆仿佛只是这一生无数节点其中一个微乎其微的错觉，像大火里的一滴眼泪，真挚，却又毫无作用。一个因人为失误坠地的瓶盖，无法与一只亚马逊河流域热带雨林中偶尔煽动翅膀的蝴蝶所带来的影响作对比。它被动的困在因空间局限造成的狭隘中，或有一日化为新物继续存在，但没人知晓最终归期。