What another sad day it is. After all these years, I should be immune to disappointment, yet inside, my soul is slowly breaking. Like the leaves dropping in autumn, my home will slowly fade away and there is nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable.
My tiles are cracked, the filler, yellow and green with damp and mold, yet my bath is pristine, my taps sparkling as the sun rays pierce through my open window. I find the clean air refreshing, the breeze as gentle as the purest raindrops but the reek of despair permeates my home of thirty-one years. It has been many months since anyone came to return my home to its former self. And now, I rot.
The last human duo looked nice and their smell of cleanliness gave me great hope of rejuvenation. Alas, the price of ownership was too high for them. Hearing the words, stink, decay, costly and dangerous, bit deeply into my weary mind.
My taps are dripping with the tears of sorrow now, and I can hear the sound of many men outside.
I feel a huge thump against the front wall, my tiles crack, my home groans and a tidal wave of pain explodes inside me.
And like so many old houses in the past, I crash to the ground and slowly fade into oblivion.
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