This old neighborhood of ours

Sometimes I cross the bridge, drawn by nostalgia, only to find our old neighborhood holds nothing now. The houses are just bricks and cement. Our parents—and we too—have moved on. These buildings, once home to countless others who also moved on, held meaning only because you and I lived within their stone walls.

Now they’re just a dozen unremarkable houses where strangers live, because we’ve moved on to something better.

No…you moved on to something better. And after some time, I did too.

This ride across the bridge that I take once in a while is nothing but a quirky groove my brain gets stuck on. I need to see it through, so I won’t be up all night thinking about something as silly as you and me not being together anymore—within these silly walls, this silly street, this old neighborhood of ours.

A young person with short dark hair, wearing a brown jacket and blue jeans, is walking alone down an empty street lined with houses. The scene is set in autumn, with tall, leafless trees on both sides of the street and scattered fallen leaves on the sidewalk and road. The overall color palette is warm and muted, dominated by shades of brown, orange, and sepia, creating a nostalgic and contemplative atmosphere. The perspective leads the viewer’s eye down the street, which fades into a soft, misty background, emphasizing a sense of solitude and quietness.