She's like the city. I like her when she's crowded but I love her when she's empty, all alone, when there's no other soul able to catch but hers.
When she's left to be quiet, I can finally hear her. As the night descends and the clouds that have soaked her eyes leave, she's able to speak.
She's tired of getting silenced by the deafening noise of the crowd. She wants to be heard. She wants to be the one that deafens, deafens with her and only her sound.
She's tired of being a nobody who's getting stepped on, walked over, beaten, used and abused. She wants to be a part of the crowd instead of being the city.
If the word ever caves in she won't be able to move like everybody else since she would be just as lifeless as the buildings, the walls and the streets she's holding.
She would be as lifeless as the dead bodies buried under her ground. She would be as lifeless as the plants she wasn't able to water, all because she is the city that cannot be moved.
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