Okay, so it's been about half an hour from my last post. Sorry about the wait.
Sitting in the #010 room, I tried to remain calm; I breathed in deeply, and exhaled equally as much. I could not resist the fear beating up in my chest; I could not hide from what I felt. This is a blog, is it not? Why should I deny what I felt?
In any case, my ears perked up at an unfamiliar noise; the sound of a key clicking in the lock, from the door I'd entered through. I cautiously stood up; my legs shaking, I placed a hand on the door's handle. And then, I pushed. Every hair on my body stood on end at that moment.
But there was nothing there; no sign of the person who'd unlocked the door. I looked around for them, but saw nobody; I saw only the cool glass of the city's exterior once again. The urban jungle had returned; skyscrapers soared so far into the sky. Even here, I'd had no such awe as I did there. It was a triumph of architecture; I closed my eyes, and opened my ears. I could feel it. I could feel the city's pulse. I could feel home.
It is only now that I've been trapped here (for so very long) that I find nostalgia in what I had before. I think that I've been here for such a time that my memories of the time before are fading; I cannot remember the face of my father, or even that I had one. But I must have, because everyone does. But was he there?
The rhythm of the constructs offered no answers to me, but I could feel it. If you've not been in a city, you wouldn't know it; there's a great feeling of satisfaction for me. The people around you feel no love for you; they feel no hate for you. You are anonymous; you're nothing to them, just as they are nothing to you. You walk with the crowd. The crowd of unconnected people, all of which are united by their mere presence with one another.
I can't describe it; it just feels right to be here. I don't want to be here; I want to go home. Nothing's convinced me more of this then the last ten minutes.
I think the right word for this is "bliss". That's what this is. This is bliss.