I used to love the post-apocalyptic aesthetic. I still do, what's not to love?

The empty streets, the half-destroyed and abandoned buildings, the walls covered in graffiti and the faded, ripped posters that seem like they're from so far away in the past...

And I was just walking down the street the other day, like one does, going to my grandma's house and passing by the old (but still running!) train station when for a few rare moments it was completely quiet in my hometown and the light was hitting the place just right and the only thing I could hear were the birds chirping and the wind rustling the leaves and the trees and I came to a realisation; my hometown kind of resembles a post-apocalyptic setting sometimes.

You always feel a little off when you're there. There are way too many old and abandoned buildings, just lying there, left to their fate. The cracks in the pavement, allowing nature to take over them once again, the overgrown trees with roots that break the sidewalks and can trip you up if you're noye careful. The abandoned playground that everyone knows to start away from because it's a standard spot for drug deals and such, where vines have covered the swings and the old paths have been overtaken by weeds and the things that made kids laugh once have started to grow old and rotten.

The rusty chains and lock on the metal door that are there but don't really make a difference because the fence is broken around in the back and everyone knows it, though most don't dare approach.

And in that silent moment there was a sense of peace and that's not a common occurrence here. This is a town when you hear fireworks on a random day and close the windows and balcony doors, because what if those are gunshots?

The abandoned building near one of the cental avenues, that's been like this for as long as I can remember myself; broken windows with illegible stuff written on the exterior walls. The rusty door. It might have been a warehouse once or maybe a garage.

The humid air after a long, rainy night and the puddles on the badly-maintained roads that make most cars sound like popcorn being prepared for a movie night with your friends.

And there's always that odd feeling that you're being watched or followed and the quiet only multiplied it by a thousand, but all I could think was wow, this town can be beautiful sometimes.

But then I crossed the street and a car passed and another, and the moment was ruined, the spell broken. It was loud again. I couldn't hear the birds anymore. There was dog poop on the sidewalk and someone had parked awkwardly. Car horns sounded again in the distance and angry drivers yelled at each other.

I still think about it. Maybe it will happen again one day, maybe I'll have to wait another eighteen years to relive it.

The one thing I'm sure about is that it's going to be worth it.