The chipped, gray paint on this old house is just a reminder that nothing lasts forever. This place was once filled with laughter and joy. There were countless parties and barbecues on this patio. We all stayed out late on those warm, summer evenings; conversing about nothing in particular. It's funny how things fade into inanimate objects with no warning. This old house used to have a life of its own. It was a living, breathing entity that welcomed all who entered its doors. I know I should have maintained it better. I shouldn't have broken the doors and windows. I should have fixed things before they were beyond repair. Now it's a dilapidated, shell of what it once was. This wreck of a house is us, and I'm truly sorry I let it go. Sometimes the only thing you can do is watch that bitch burn to the ground. After the smoke clears you can always stand on the warm, cracked  foundation; basking in the memories of when it was immaculate and inviting; but rebuilding on the same site at this point, is impossible...