Empty structures wear a heavy cloak of sadness. Annually, I go by train from Florida to New Jersey, traveling through the discarded neighborhoods of towns and cities, watching the forlorn and empty buildings that are waiting for attention or have given up the hope of occupancy. Sadness drips off the rooftops like raindrops. Buildings must have memories and souls to look so destitute and depressed.

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I was always a writer but lived in a bookkeeper’s body before I found Medium and broke free — well, almost. Working to work less and write more.

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