I’ve been in places before where I wasn’t quite sure if I would make it out in one piece, or if I would make it out with the people I came in with.
Regrettably, none of them came out the other side and to put it simply I was depressingly alone for a while.
I don’t necessarily like to focus on despair, or dysphoria, and I try my best to look past it with what I have to deal with at the same time.
It’s like I’m in a glass box sometimes, watching the people around me laugh and yell in happiness - except I’m silently suffering.
I’d rather focus on the things that make me feel at the top of the world; like the rush exploring an abandoned building gives me.
It was a sunny day, warm with a breeze, but even with all the holes and drafts, the sun couldn’t light up the entire factory.
Everything seemed to be falling apart and rusty, and this eerie vibe smacked you in the face as you entered it.
The walls were absolutely covered in graffiti, shouting their profanities.
Other walls were looked like a dead, famous painter had travelled forward into time to take part in modern civilization.
It was slightly pungent... a mix of pee, rust, mold, cologne.
There was a strong breeze that blew everything together and rattled any loose metal.
Everything was quiet except the occasional rattle, the cars outside and the train tracks right behind the factory.
The entire place was somewhat unforgettable, and terrifying. I loved it.
The texture of the floor was smooth and dusty, walls were sharp and rough - appearing as rocks.
It was like running your hand along a rock, and then moving straight onto a tree.
The walls were different textures in different places.
Everything was covered in rust, because it was just so old. I didn’t want to touch anything - for fear of cutting myself and contracting some crazy disease.
But a tendency of mine is to look for the beauty in everything, I'll strain my eyes to find it.
So I felt this abandoned factory was possibly one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen.
Every small piece of writing or drawing, no matter how crude, had a memory attached to it, a feeling, and a person or a group.
It felt like home there, but then again...
anywhere with the right people can feel like that.
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