beechnut1969
What We Choose to Carry
They stood in the open square before the DOM — one with a cross, the other with a sign that read zu blöd. I don’t know if they were together or if chance had written their alignment, but for a moment the scene felt deliberate, as though faith and doubt had stepped into the same frame.
The man with the cross held it as one might hold an apology, or a burden too familiar to name. The other stood motionless, expression unreadable, sign lifted like a quiet verdict. Around them, tourists and worshippers passed — some looking away, others pausing, perhaps unsure which man to understand.
Cologne has a way of drawing paradox into the open — belief beside disbelief, reverence beside protest — and still, the cathedral rises over it all, patient and unoffended.
What We Choose to Carry
They stood in the open square before the DOM — one with a cross, the other with a sign that read zu blöd. I don’t know if they were together or if chance had written their alignment, but for a moment the scene felt deliberate, as though faith and doubt had stepped into the same frame.
The man with the cross held it as one might hold an apology, or a burden too familiar to name. The other stood motionless, expression unreadable, sign lifted like a quiet verdict. Around them, tourists and worshippers passed — some looking away, others pausing, perhaps unsure which man to understand.
Cologne has a way of drawing paradox into the open — belief beside disbelief, reverence beside protest — and still, the cathedral rises over it all, patient and unoffended.