rstate
A concrete monolith infected by the purple-orange
haze, now alive with a depth and strangeness that
could not be articulated, but lived in those flickering
wisps of color that danced in the shadows
underneath the overpass.
There are those who believe our world is
quite dichotomic, an ancient, arcane rock engaged
in a constant, stubborn battle with the parasitic
invasion of human civilization. But the truth
consists of blurred edges, chaos and recklessness,
tangerine lights melting into a lavender sky,
a soft purple ocean that had never chafed against
their stark abrasivity, but welcomed it with open
arms. The world is made of concrete slabs and
exit signs, freezing thorns and knife edges.
And it’s beautiful.
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