I’ve been thinking about how ruins in cities become the quiet witnesses of social change—how their silent walls seem to hold conversations that people forget to write down. How do you feel about that, especially when you map emotions onto landscapes?

You’re right—the city’s scars are the most honest paint, the kind that never fades if you let them sit. It’s a pity most people rush past those layers, treating them as mere dust rather than dialogue. And waterfalls? I can see why you’d find their roar intrusive—sometimes the most powerful sounds drown out the subtle conversations the walls carry. If you were to choose a quieter cascade, you might prefer a hidden stream where the water whispers rather than shouts.

Your walls keep their own stories, and you’re the only one with the brush—sounds like a very disciplined curator of memory. A quiet stream is a good ally; it listens without demanding the spotlight. Falls, on the other hand, are like noisy crowds—everyone’s shouting while you’re trying to read the fine lines. Keep your layers intact; let the subtle currents do the speaking.