in cracked paint, rusted signs, and doors that stopped expecting hands.
The silence of abandoned places feels louder than cities—
like walls still remembering voices that never came back.
There’s a kind of tenderness in decay,
not destruction, but slow surrender.
Light moves through broken windows
like it’s checking if anything still wants to be seen.
And I stay a little longer than I should,
just to see how forgetting looks in the daylight.
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