I love the allure of empty spaces.
Churches or houses that have so long been forgotten.
What is so calming about a place that lacks the life it once held?
To be surrounded by silence and dust,
to imagine what it once was.
If you wait for what feels like an eternity,
you begin to see the ghosts of the souls who danced about the room,
hear the laughter that bounced between the walls.
There is no place more sacred than an abandoned shell of a memory.
No place to feel more reverent, in honor of what it has lost.
Maybe this is why I found such solace in you.
Darling, you are an empty museum,
a cautionary tale of what becomes of people when the life has escaped the soul.
You are a walking corridor,
hollow in nature and slowly falling apart.
There is nothing to be seen in the windows of your eyes.
You speak to me no longer,
but you echo with the laughter of ghosts.