I find beauty in what time left behind,
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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