She kept walking faster, faster, faster- sepia eyes fixed on the wall before her. Amongst tired photographs of people, she will never meet and dust protected certificates, the wall, grey with crumbling paint; a decay she could not ignore. There were many areas of life where decay could be something beautiful, look at blue cheese for god sake, or golden rust on forgotten gates where brambles and nettles have flourished. In those small details, there is beauty.
But there was nothing beautiful about this.
Decayed. Forgotten. Looked at every day but never really seen. Oh, how lonely it must feel. How it must long for that look of pride from days forgotten when it’s paint was slick and new; a sign of hard work done.
Her feet picked up their pace, the sound of her scuffed shoes echoing off the wooden floor. She wondered…if she kept walking, would she pass straight through the wall? she felt like she could.
She felt t r a n s i e n t , metaphoric.
She wanted to push her arms straight through the concrete, feel it’s pain, acknowledge it’s existence, and in turn, diminish her own, even if for a second. To experience a suspended form of existence.
She turned at the last second. Disappointment filled her stomach; how much longer would she have to keep living within a shell of vacillation. A twitch of her brain that had saved her from either an amazing adventure or a broken nose. She would take either at this point, for either would be something and right now, she felt nothing.