Echoes of forgotten Castles
A brutalist structure that may never have existed—its sharp, monolithic shapes flicker in your mind like fragments of a half-forgotten dream. Its concrete walls rise imposingly, but their angles blur as you try to recall the specifics, as if the building itself is fading from memory. Perhaps it was a fortress of modernity, its bare materials raw and unyielding, or maybe it was never real, just an imagined relic of an architectural ambition that never came to be.
You remember shadows cast by the massive overhangs, but were they truly there? The oppressive weight of concrete pressing down, the cold, sterile corridors, the brutal geometry—it all feels like something you once knew, yet it remains distant, elusive. The structure’s existence wavers, not in time but in thought, as if it belonged more to a future that never arrived than to a past you lived.
Was it a monument to utopian ideals or a dystopian vision? A ghost of urban planning or merely the shape of your mind trying to make sense of spaces that were too bold, too stark, too extreme to ever belong to reality? Whatever it was, or wasn’t, the memory lingers like the faint smell of wet concrete after a storm—a trace of something harsh, cold, and incomprehensibly vast.
And yet, the more you try to hold onto it, the more it slips away, leaving behind only a shadow of what might have been.
