
Aliens and ghosts. There are certainly ghosts.
It’s probably just me but …
When I walk into one of those breezy gaps between city buildings, where once another building stood, I get a definite communication from an indefinable source. It’s this: there are things left unsaid, undone.
The tragedy of the building lost to fire or the wrecking ball or simply to nature is overshadowed by the tragedy of the undone, the unsaid.
Life is short. You can’t make it longer but you can make it fuller.
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Labels: floor, ghosts, Old Buildings, tile