311 Words About This Rust
This rust has seen a lot of things. It’s existed in many forms and has been many places. Actually, no, it hasn’t. I mistook it for some other rust that I saw. You can’t blame me. All rust looks the same.
But I digress.
This rust is probably special in it’s own way. I could only assume and hope for that to be a case. It’s a rust that a lot of people pass by. Whether they’re walking by it or flying low overhead, it’s a rust that sees a lot of people, even if people don’t see it. The rust remembers you, or at least it certainly remembers me.
We met over 11 years ago. I was giddy, hopping along, smoking a cigarette. I took a picture of the rust with my Blackberry. Pleased to meet you. I passed by it a few more times that season, each time being less and less aware of its existence. But it was probably watching me, observing my changes.
A year or so later, I walked by it all the time. But now, I was no longer with friends, I was no longer giddy, but still smoking cigarettes. I’d nod at it every now and then but after a while, we became too familiar with each other.
But it seems like every time we met up, it was on a gloomy day like this one. All of my memories of this rust has the same sky behind it. Perhaps the sunshine hides it or washes it out. But today, we met up and said our silent pleasantries. I’m a much different person than I was then, I’m not sure if the rust even recognizes me. Or the changes I’ve gone through. But then again, it could be saying the same thing about me.
Or maybe it doesn’t. After all, it’s just fucking rust.