I hate the city, all the noises all the smells, the heat scattering through the asphalt and making me choke. I hate the futurists, God I hate them, stupid as they were, thinking the city had something great to give them, thinking the noise, the heat, the pain, the screams, the sweat, the feeling of a thousand bodies packed together, had some love to give them.
At least they were constant in their thoughts, in where their loyalties lie. Not like me, I'm like water, mutable, never in one place and never feeling the same way. I make noise too, but it's not loud, it's a murmur a tiny thing that you could miss if you weren't paying enough attention. I'm cool, refreshing, the sun tries to touch me but it can never warm all my extremities.
I'm also alone, like a stream tucked away in a hidden corner of a forgotten forest. I could never be as big as the ocean, as demanding, as present and imposing, and I don't want to.
It's simple really, it's the law of nature: I'm small, cool and quiet therefore I hate everything that is big, warm and loud.
Opposites do not attract, that's the ugliest lie ever told.
God, I hate the futurists