I’m curious how my English comes across to native speakers. Does this style feel natural and authentic to you? I'm italian, and do you think I could comfortably write my posts in English this way?
PS: I have a question. When I write my posts in Italian, they’re flagged as 100% human. But when I write the same kind of text in English, just with a bit of help (like verbs and blabla) it drops to around 25% human. Why does that happen? It feels a bit weird.
This is how I write:
" The early afternoon light slants through the tall windows, passes through the slightly wavy glass, and settles on the pale wood table, where a cup of coffee, recently left there, still retains its warmth. It smells toasty, with a bitter edge that lingers in the air along with the damper smell of the canal, the one that comes when a window is left ajar long enough. Outside, Amsterdam moves slowly today but is not still. Bicycles pass one after another, the steady rhythm of their wheels on the cobblestones, the brief click of the gearshift when someone accelerates to avoid a distracted pedestrian. A bell rings, not insistently, just enough to exist. Further away, a boat glides across the water: first you hear the light scrape of its hull, then a laughing voice, held back by the wind.
There's a subtle smell of bread, perhaps from a nearby bakery, mixing with the coffee and something cold, metallic, typical of days when the sky remains clear but not completely open. The clouds filter the light without extinguishing it, making it more uniform, more diffuse, as if everything were seen through a thin surface. I stay here because outside everything continues without my help, and inside I can observe without intervening. The rim of the cup is slightly uneven under my fingers, the heat now more tepid than present, and this minimal change, almost imperceptible, is enough to measure the passing of time. Nothing else is needed. The voices alternate, some close by, others so distant they become only rhythm.
A door closes, someone descends the stairs, quick footsteps, then another pause. It's not silence, but something more organized, as if each sound had its own space and none were truly trying to overlap. And as I gaze at the reflection of the buildings in the water, slightly broken, never quite stable, it becomes hard to tell if it's the city moving or if it's just the way I'm holding it, for a few more seconds, before it changes without warning."