I took shelter in an abandoned building.
For weeks, even months, I watched it slowly decay over time-
old age always gets the best of us.
I stared at the ceiling and felt the memories flash back.
The memories of a home.
Its warmth burned the tips of my fingers
I struck a match in the vacant kitchen;
I watched as its interior was swallowed up by the fury of the flames.
So much emptiness, still so empty.
The fire caught to my skin, and I did not feel a thing.
I wake up every morning and pass by the ash figure of my dreams; all that is left are bad, burned memories.