I took a glance inside a place and I found that there was nothing there. The outside frame looked presentable. It looked inviting. There wasn't anything that really offended the eye. When I was afforded the opportunity to check the interior, I couldn't see anything. Unable to help myself, I stepped in.
The walls were a drab gray. The floors were bare and stained. At the beginning, I'm sure they had been spotless and beautiful. The walls seemed as if they had once carried the murals of sunshine and laughter. Now they were shredded, as if someone had been desperate to escape them. There were areas where the decaying studs were exposed. I imagine the rooms had actually been comforting...at one point.
I couldn't believe a place that looked so normal on the outside, could be so dead inside. There was a part of me that hoped that this was all a nightmare. I was proven wrong. Through my exploration of the wreckage, I never felt fear. There was more like an intense sadness that permeated everything. I was ready to leave; run away and forget that it ever existed.
Until I realized that running away was impossible. There was no option but to accept that this place was mine. No one had destroyed it but me. Now, it was screaming for help.
I readjusted my vision and saw that there was never really 'a place' to look at. It had been my reflection in the mirror the entire time.
It seems I have work to do.
I'm sorry.
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