I love old houses. Old scenery. Walking downtown, or basically anywhere for that matter. Staring into windows yellowed with age. Some broken & boarded up. The stories these houses could tell. The lives lived & the footsteps passed thru. My mind wanders to when the house was built, the plans drawn up. What was the inspiration, the dreams meant for this house? Did it bring joy? Was there happiness or sadness in this house? What would my life have been like in a house that grand, that intricate? What’s going on in it now?
Even the not-so-grand, simple but falling apart. What stories do they hold?
I am fascinated by other people’s houses, by other people’s lives.
Because I hate my own.
The Tao of unsaying
11 months ago