Phone Photography Contest #72: Caracas, a dream of water in an empty glass

Images of a withered Caracas The towers try to reflect a sky that no longer belongs to them. There is architecture, yes, but without soul. Concrete dressed as progress, with cracks that no one admits to. There are no colors, only the echo of what they were. Everything is Moderna, but defeated. New, but hollow. The faces walk as if life is passing over them. No one looks at anyone. The eyes are tired of seeing the same thing. The promise. The sleeplessness. Children do not play. Women don't dream. Men don't love. Everyone survives. And in the middle, time drags on with a calm that despairs, as if it already knows that it is winning. | |---| Traffic lights change color for no one. The poles illuminate the void. Avenues don't lead anywhere that matters. Caracas moves without advancing, it beats without a pulse. The heart is there, but it no longer pumps hope. The windows are dull eyes: the buildings, mausoleums of the possible. And the wind, it doesn't cool anymore. There is beauty, yes. But it hurts like a memory that insists on staying when it no longer fits. The city does not scream. He's barely breathing. But if one listens carefully, one can hear the faint whisper of all the dreams that did not dare to be. They are there, floating, waiting for a miracle. | |---| And yet... Caracas continues. Not because I have faith. But because he doesn't know how to stop.