The abandoned building gave shelter to the soul of this passerby, and soon became the only place I wanted to call home. I could have taken a cookie-cutter home, one of those ones in a row that could have been stamped there by a clerk. How can you ever really fall in love with a place if it is the same as every other?
I could have passed the abandoned building upon that wintry day, yet evermore will I be glad that I put my car into reverse. She was the treasure I'd only ever dreamed could be. And so, within those walls I build my company, turned my passions into my life.
In her years of solitude, the abandoned building let her dreams grow right from her foundations to her honeycomb roof.
The grand old dame of the mountains was a building raised of rock, as such, upon her abandonment the good spirits of these hills took up residence.
A building may be abandoned for some better home, yet also when the occupants aren't wise enough to treasure its true worth. In this case it was the latter. She was solid; the years had come and gone only to prove her so.
The abandoned building had a soul, one that was stoic and sober, as if patience was easy for its grand pillars of rock.
I rested in the arch of that great abandoned building and wondered whom could lack the wisdom to leave such a grand old place?
First came the sunshine into the abandoned building, then came the nesting birds and sheltering animals of the woodland. And whom is to say that it is then abandoned? For nature will always flourish in such spaces.
The abandoned building glowed golden in the light of the new day, its' stones finding their way to join the dawn chorus.
The paint over the soft wood is deep like the way mother spreads her cream cheese. The flakes peel at random depths showing different sun-baked hues underneath. In this way, in its decrepitude, the old bakery has become more beautiful. The door, once cherry red, is just the same, though the peelings are all shades of a pink that surrendered to the high August sun year after year. It will move on its hinges still, but with the weariness of of an old man. It creaks, the moan echoing to the rafters that still fight the sagging roof above. The windows no longer beckon light inside, no longer lift the gloom that the walls impose. Instead they add to the growing sense of damp and dark and permit the chill wind to penetrate.
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