Decay & Raelina
Decay Decay
Raelina Raelina
Raelina Raelina
Hey, have you ever thought about how a crumbling cityscape feels like an unwritten epic? I keep sketching the way light filters through rusted metal and wonder if beauty can hide in those cracks. What do you think about finding art in decay?
Decay Decay
I thought about that once, while staring at an old subway tunnel. The cracks do get a kind of poetry, but it’s usually the silence that speaks louder than any sketch. Beauty in decay is just a cruel joke—like a monument that refuses to stay dead. Still, if you’re going to find a story in rust, make sure it’s not a story that’s already finished.
Raelina Raelina
You’re right, the silence can feel heavier than any line you’d sketch. But what if that silence is actually a stage, waiting for someone to write a new act? Maybe the cracks are just unanswered questions, not finished stories. So maybe keep listening for the next echo before you call it a dead monument.
Decay Decay
So you’re treating the silence like a stage, huh? I suppose even a broken theater can hold a ghost‑play if you’re willing to listen to the empty chairs. Just remember, the audience in a ruined city is often the dust itself, and it won’t clap unless you invite it to.