From my room, I see a ghost town. It is a mountain town, standing tall around deep valleys in three directions. The fourth is a very slow slope, heading endlessly to the center of this planet.
It is an old town. But how old is old? One of the oldest. For me, too old. A town beat by the forces of the earth. The most recent beats are dated 97 and 16. Those are not meaningless numbers. These dates have left scars and unrepairable damages. The assaulter has a short memory and soon will come back. The beaten has marks and remembers.
Most marks here are visible. Through my window, I count five cranes standing even taller than this mountain town and its towers. But the cranes are standing still. No man at work, only signs, and warnings. This is the first sign of a forgotten town.
The other signs are harder to see. They take a more careful and closer look. My window is not enough, I must go down and walk the winding road uphill, to the sky. I see some cars, and some people, but they are all sad. And some here, maybe too much. I rather say a few. A handful. A drop.
The buildings also tell a story. It has flourished in the past. Pietra romana, pietra mediavale, pietra rinascentista e intonaco. All four come together and form unique buildings. I swear I saw the remainings of a statue, a face, used as a brick.
But now it is all crumbling. Countless cracks. Dying on life-support. It can't stand on its own, so it needs wooden and metallic poles to hold the building together like the last embrace. Steel cables run around the buildings lacing the bricks together to form an amalgam of feelings.
Feelings of the people who left this haunted place. It's been 6 years and everybody fled to the outskirts or living cities. Houses are left in disarray. Locked or opened, with dusty books and albums. A beautiful terrace left for the birds and plants and rain. Three whole families lived in a house, a red house. A house that was the result of life savings. All lost and forgotten.
Forgotten because what is not seen is not remembered and the people of this town have left. The people that come here, do not go there. There are no stores, no restaurants, no theatre, no schools, no hotels or pensions.
This city lost its identity. It is asking who am I and I have no better answer than to say it is a little dump room. All it does in return is wait for slow euthanasia that may never come.
