Dilapidated
A few hundred metres from our apartment complex is a dilapidated house; almost completed covered with moss and plants; but surprisingly not too broken. There is no door and seems to invite one to take a peek inside. Wonder if it was ever inhabited? What stories does it hold? Happy memories or sad ones? I would probably never know; but it would continue to invite until either the vegetation around it eats it away slowly or some bulldozer erases it for a giant apartment similar to ones we live in.
