I hate the furnace of the city. I hate its burned white, the swarm of cars and the noise.
I even hate the small, off-center streets with their trees, because they're uneven and narrow and cluttered. With randomness. There is a dusty car with a framed photo on top of it. There is a wall with open wounds painted over with vibrant colors. Why must I be witness to all of the sickness radiating from the structure (or lack thereof)? I just want to get my books, go home and deal with my states of mind.
Δεν υπάρχουν σχόλια:
Δημοσίευση σχολίου