There are people for whom the city is a huge cold ruin populated by zombies. Basically, there is only solitude you hide behind walls, themselves framed by street noise drowned, all captive in his aura of smog. Remove all the layers, they say, you have one hundred thousand Russian dolls and ripped a tiny, giving birth out of nothing.
I lived with the city long enough to ask me if I still loved her. For love, we must see to the right scale and do this: to live in it with her and outside of it at once. Take a step back and the city is nothing but a thin layer of cement placed on the earth with dinosaurs underneath and around the galaxy. Zoom in close enough and it is home to more than the torments and joys of a single heart, two if you're in love.
The rest of the time, do not get distracted by the tumult. Cars, jackhammers, sirens, the rhythmical people in office towers, the unknown underground, advertising and grime, it's nothing all that, it's the sound of cicadas. Moreover, even in the city, cicadas, true, are often noisier than the highway.
to love the city, one must think like a village, like a campaign. We must realize that we know everyone, the sun is the same as the fall maples lose their leaves red and yellow as well on concrete than on the wet ground and everywhere, the leaves make a pleasant sound when stepped on.
to love the city, he must accept his nature, enjoy having a million souls at hand, able to slip into the multitude and extract it, love tangles complex with its head, with his heart and with his senses.
To no longer fear being caught by the city must be as large and as small as she. Often, I have traveled more, have climbed more mountains and seen different places, but some mornings, I agree my luck ... as it is hostile to love the city, he must make a long journey in itself, he must love life as well.
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