the difference of a place sophisticatedly depends on who stays in it. when the person leaves, that foreign deafening silence potentially listed as a kind of phobia awakes your presence and realization arrives perseveringly reminding: you are now alone.
actually, every thing is the same. the table, the ornament, the coaster. but when a shift of feelings happens, every thing seems to come alive – a tiny soul weakly glimmering in their existence. even the slightest memories that might or might not exist between you and them, all seem to play like an old reused tape in the head.
when the heart is happy, these objects they appear completely inanimate. we knock them over, curse the hell out of the poor object for our shin; when we are the careless ones. we forget that they don’t move. we do. when the heart is shattered, we throw sympathetic gazes at them as if we could gain some collective empathy. all the accidents erased, forgiven. after all, they are the things that has always been there – never scorned you, never betrayed you, never complained. this might sound insane, but we do seek peace in them unknowingly when dead ends meet.
there is no real point to this post. there was a sudden fracture in the situation and space i am comfortable in then i realized how much neglected the things that came with my surroundings have became. they might have no soul, but i have a heart; and i should learn to love all the things that come with this life.