The Broken Building calls to me. It feels as if it is a part of me. It looks as haunted as I feel inside. It’s as if nothing separates us.
The jagged edges that have managed to survive are doing their best to stand tall. Once they were something else, something coherent, something beautiful. Now, it’s where the waywards find respite. In a sense, the Broken Building is their home, their safe haven. Nobody judges them here, nobody calls after them. It’s both liberating & lonely.
The Broken Building doesn’t criticise. It just absorbs what is. It takes it in & creates a new asylum for everyone that comes into it. And all it asks in return is that you don’t break it apart further. It prays you won’t tear it all the way down until all that’s left of it is rubble. Rubble that makes it indistinguishable. Rubble that makes it invisible.
Because as it turns out, the Broken Building wishes to live. It wishes to continue standing, with all its jagged edges. And it’s both magnificent & appalling.
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