There’s something about an old, dilapidated house that makes me catch my breath every time I see one. Abandoned but still standing in a testament to a life lived. The ghosts of families that lived here, children running up and down the stairs, a roast in the oven and perhaps a death or two along the way. Someone owns it but no longer wants to live here … or perhaps nobody can live here lest the memories fall down around them.
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