I have cherished memories of this house, especially when it was still being built. Memories of me and my best friend sitting on the edge of the roof, swinging our legs in the air, cracking silly jokes. Memories of us looking at the lust green trees through the windowpanes, talking our hearts out. Memories of two young boys building dreams. As I walk past this abandoned house now, stuck in the monotonous mundanity of my life, all those memories and dreams come rushing back. A feeling of heaviness engulfs me and I wonder if it was me that abandoned my dreams or was it my dreams that abandoned me?
This post was written as part of Five Sentence Fiction: Abandon