My Thoughts

#15

I walk up to an old house, surrounded by old, decaying, wilting, weeping trees. The house itself looks as if it has an unsettling personality.

From where i stand i can see the cracked and chipped paint. The floor board's of the porch look to be rotting away. The old shutters are broken and some are even hanging their by a nail.

Through some of the windows i can see the thin, dark, ripped curtains. Shadows of object's, cracked, old, and broken.

It could have been my imagination but through the top window i think i could see the shadow of someone looking down at me.

As i take my things inside the seemingly old and broken white house, i see old and dusty blood red couches and chairs, what was once an elegant and beautifully made bookshelf that is filled with old, dusty, thick books.

Inside the house i can hear the moaning and groaning of the house and creaky floors. I can hear the moaning and creaking turn into weeping. It's like the house has a personality of its own.

When i look into a room i see the dusty and broken object's. I can hear the continuous weeping from the house, almost as if it's being haunted by it's past visitors.

I can see a dusty bed and chair in the corners of the dark room that is only lite by the dim glow of the moon. I can see the chips in the paint and glases.

Inside the house it feels and looks as if with each passing guests the light and life of the house, even the surroundings outside, have been and are continuing to be drained and is never coming back.

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Love you all! Bye-bye 👋