run while you can

Unoccupied.

Of my eye. New York, New York. Spring 2013.
He knew he liked tall buildings before he had seen one with his own two eyes. In his dreams, there were stories of glass and steel piled high above, around him. These towers reflected the city while simultaneously contributing to its might. He wanted to be a tall building, noticed not just seen. He wanted to be the glass elevator, moving up and down, in a constant effort to maintain a relevant point of view. He knew the city would be there long after the tall buildings weren’t tall anymore. ‘Tall’ seemed both historically relative and timeless. He was short.

We shouldn’t stop to smell the empty spaces that fill our hearts will apprehension. We ought not.* Some places are perfect unoccupied.

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