Just for two hours: The bridge spans its arches between the shores. It floats between two worlds – a silent guardian that divides more than it connects. Footsteps echo across the river and the air changes on the way from this side to the beyond.
The light grows harsh on the “bright side,” sterile, merciless, and piercing the eyes of the hurried passersby. Expensive handbags dangle from their wrists like trophies, while cheap plastic bags swing beside them like a mockery. Here, where no one searches for refundable bottles in containers, where perfumes mask what must not exist, people search for meaning in things they do not need, for a meaning that does not exist.
With aching eyes, a dry throat, and senses sharpened to the point of paralysis, it’s necessary to press forward, complete the tasks, and return—back to the painted streets full of wonder—streets as colorful as a chaotic painting, smelling of life and decay, where the occasional scent of marijuana drifts around the corners—back to the “dark side.”
And there—on the “bright side,” where the light blinds—suffocated by the flood of impressions, there are ghosts in the people’s eyes and shadows lurking behind the glaring façades.
It is a strange symmetry: The “bright” side is the true darkness, dazzling and hollow. The “dark” side, rough and unyielding, carries the weight of something real. Between these two worlds hangs the bridge, silent and ancient, a connection that divides more than it unites. #society #socialcriticism #perspective #mood #materialism #consumption #duality #bridge