when I walk into a home that’s been left behind, it feels familiar.
maybe that’s because my soul felt abandoned for so long
maybe its because when I stop and look around at the home I’ve made, it feels foreign to me sometimes.
maybe it’s because of the vast potential a broken home holds.
maybe it’s because it feels like a giant interactive, physical representation of how I’ve always felt, but now I’ve found it - so it isn’t alone anymore - just like me.
maybe it’s because they get a bad rep - people think they’re creepy, haunted or dangerous - but they used to be safe. their walls used to provide shelter and safety and warmth.
maybe it’s because they’re a blank slate, waiting for the right person to come along and love them just right.