I don’t know why, but for some unknown reason I have a love for abandoned houses and factories. I will stop the car to look at them.
When I was a little girl a friend and I saw a row of abandoned homes down a lonely road. This was in Brooklyn, New York. What a strange thing to find there. We walked down the street and although we knew the KEEP OUT DANGEROUS signs were there for a reason, we still walked inside one of the houses.
I climbed the broken stairs to the second level that could be seen from the first level, since the walls were torn down. There was an old broken piano standing against the wall. I banged on the keys that sounded like loud metal clanging together. The sound was ghost-like. I loved it.
This place had a past. This place was someone’s home. A family probably lived here and thrived here, and had wonderful memories.
I still love old abandoned houses. I research them on the internet, I learn about them, and most of all, I intend to some day in the near future, to visit some of them. History at it’s best.