I think I like the smell of fresh paint
on new buildings
Those intricately designed shapes
Worked on by sleep deprived architects
With their shots of caffeine
And their idealistic love for heights
These concrete(or brick?) structures
Smell of hope, like
petrichor and mint
And all those other sharp smells
That appeal to our senses
But there's something I can't pinpoint
about old, crumbling buildings
Of which were once upright structures
They appear to be wise
Like they have stories to tell
Of each and every host they've known
Of the remains of objects
With sentimental value still attatched to them
Oh, these ruins
They speak of sorrow
And ache and longing
Of mirth, routine
And promises
Of what once was
And never again will be
But most of all,
they smell like home
YOU ARE READING
Fantastical Creatures
FantasyRevolving around Celtic/Gaelic mythology, these fantastical tales take you everywhere. A disgraced Seelie, now turned changeling, takes a human boy's form and seeks vengeance against the Seelie Faes Queen Eris. He enters as a bard and leaves as a st...
