Just steps (literally steps) away from the waterfront there is a house. A house yes, a home...not so much.
The "story" is, that this house has stood empty for some 25 odd years. That's a long time. No one has stepped foot in there. It is said that the furniture is still there and if you look in the windows, there are knick-knacks on the window sill. If you look closely, you can see the curtains still hanging in the windows.
Who does this? Who walks away from a home? I have been trying to wrap my head around it, but I just can't. Every house has a story. If walls could talk they would tell of days gone by. They would show you their scars, the pencil markings of children growing. The holes from pictures and drawings moved over the years. The floors show their age. The dents and dings, the stains and the knicks. Even the creakings that they feel.
Not this house. It has no story. No one to tend to it. No one to give it love. No one to pull in the driveway, no sign marking it "Home Sweet Home." In fact, it is in such a state of disrepair, that it will need to be demolished. It seems such a waste to me. Knock down the old to make way for the new.
I love old houses. I always have. My preference is not to buy a new home, but one that is old. Like that comfortable old quilt thrown over the couch, or the old t-shirt that you just keep wearing. When we're comfortable, we're happy. My