if walls could speak
Stumbling across old things is always a delight, although often tinged with melancholy. Old derelict houses are the things that always touch my soul. They're haunting,(but not in a 'ghostly' sort of way.) It was once someone's home. When they lived there, they probably never dreamed it would one day fall down and wither away, forgotten and left to the mercies of the forest. They loved it, cherished it, and raised their family there perhaps. Or maybe not; it could have been an unhappy home. But just think - one day it will happen to us too. Our houses will crumble, and people will forget us. Our family will one day be obliterated. Tiptoeing through ruins always fills me with a peculiar kind of sadness of things lost. Old books are another favourite thing of mine. A long time ago, they belonged to someone and were read, kept on a prominent shelf, or made trips round the world, passed on from owner to owner, bookshop to bookshop. These