concrete & cranes

sometimes the city feels like a giant skeleton. i was walking past these massive concrete steps today—the kind that feel like they were built for giants or just for people who want to disappear—and i saw someone just sitting there. he was a speck of blue against all that beige, looking like he was waiting for the world to start or maybe for it to finally stop for a second. the sky was that weird, bruised yellow-gray color it gets right before it decides if it wants to rain or just stay moody. it’s that specific version of golden hour where the gold feels tarnished and everything looks like a memory you haven't even had yet.

there’s something weirdly comforting about seeing a stranger exist in a space that isn't finished. those cranes in the background were just hanging against the clouds like giant metal praying mantises, building some future version of the skyline that none of us asked for. the wind was making that hollow whistling sound through the metal railings, and i wondered if he could hear it, too. he had his shoes off, which is the most honest thing you can do on concrete. it’s like he wanted to feel the foundation of the city instead of just walking over it.

i kept thinking about how much pressure there is for us to be "finished products." by the time you're sixteen, you're supposed to have a personality and a vibe and a path. but then i look at this guy sitting under a crane and a skeleton of a building, and it feels okay to be a work in progress. if a multi-million dollar project is allowed to be a total mess of rebar and dust for three years before it becomes a skyscraper, i don't see why we’re expected to have it all figured out by next semester. maybe he’s just scaffolding and blueprints for now, and honestly, that has to be enough.

everything is moving so fast—the cars, the people, the internet, my own thoughts—but the cranes move so slow. i think i prefer the crane speed. there’s a certain dignity in taking your time to move something heavy. i watched him for a second and then kept walking, leaving him there with the tiny runway lights on the steps that were starting to glow. they looked like guides for people who aren't going anywhere, which is fine. sometimes nowhere is the best place to be when the rest of the world is screaming.

he’s just another speck of blue against a lot of beige, waiting for the sky to turn a different shade of lonely. and i’m just the person who saw him.