Nothing to Read

Walking through the city, I sometimes feel drawn to the symbols and numbers painted on signs. The less message or meaning they carry, the better. It’s a strange feeling. I want to look at things that mean nothing. Normally you’d want to look at something with meaning, something with a story. But sometimes it’s the opposite—I find myself wanting something that means nothing, yet has something drawn on it.

Walking along the river, I’m sometimes drawn to reflections. There’s a beauty to the natural phenomenon, sure, but to me it’s just reality being mirrored back—the reflection itself holds no meaning. Cut off from the real world, it becomes nothing but shape and color, wavering. Maybe it’s the fact that there’s nothing to read into it that feels good.