There is something about worn-out places that fascinate me. The exhausted paint coatings releasing itself from the grasp of the wall, exposing the underlying bricks from which they were once built, long ago. They are no longer able to contain each other. I wonder who wins here. The paint, avowed to protect the wall, now unearthing freedom? The wall, who can now be its true self? Or both, for breaking free from the vile dominance of attachment?
They r meant to be together.. there s no freedom in coming off.. Without the wall there is no paint.. without the paint the wall isn't safe. They need to be together hand in hand 😁
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