Wednesday, 25 June 2014

On Buildings

Where does the life go, that drains through these old creaking windows; white paint jaded by the sunshine of past endeavours?

A place that felt so huge the first time I walked up the stairs now weighs heavily with the shadow of a different future.

A place where I learned so much about people, about life, about how I should spend my days.

A place where I pinned calenders up on a notice board in an office built for one but habited by two.

A place where I walked into on a Monday morning with heavy set eyes and left on Friday afternoon, with new ideas on how to make the changes I needed to make.

Lost in the snow, walking back through a blizzard, a grey colossus that faded into the recess of my mind when warm food and warm feelings grabbed me in from the tundra.

An open door to adventure, to receiving digital invitations to adventures in other lands, listening as I try to figure out yet more logistics about a brave new world.

When care and attention are no longer a priority, there remains a few scant reminders of days gone by, of days when people laughed and felt alive.

It's strange how buildings are more than buildings.

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