The skyline speaks to me—telling stories of an industrious time. Engineered in an era of ambitious building, steal beams forged and erected to scrape against the sky.
This is what modern man has chosen to make—monoliths to commerce and power. Towering pillars built upon the shoulders of our predecessors. Constructing without ceasing. Always straining to go higher and higher.
A community of architectural achievements, these structures answer the question: How high? They are tall testaments to blood, sweat, ingenuity, and excruciating effort. As we are ever striving to live closest to the sky.
The skyline speaks to me. I hear it murmur through the night. I see in that window—and those up there as well—people still busy working, a square within a square of light.
The skyline never sleeps. Not even for an evening does it shut its eyes. Never still at night’s darkest moments. It perpetually reverberates with life.
The skyline is beautiful and imposing. Our metropolitan terrain. Ever-active giants birthed from giants of industry. Eliciting awe and electrifying the brain.
The skyline is magnificent. Stoic by day and romantic come nightfall. Inspiring and daunting—making us feel both invincible and very, very small.