You can't go home again. It ain't there no more. Gone. Up in flames a long time ago. It's ghost plays hide and seek amongst the trees and poison ivy overtaking it's neglected carcass.
You can go back but it ain't the same. Memories clash with crumbling remains.
Bones of the bridge whisper "You can't get there from here."
Places you once whittled away the time, now being eaten by vines.
The Vandals have been here too, looting and pillaging to feed a habit.
Likely had more than one itch to scratch afterwards too. Couldn't even get too close to the ghost for all the poison ivy.
Mother Nature doesn't much care for ghosts. Or memories. Or old buildings.
Thankfully memories are fireproof. My granny's house, not so much, it's overgrown foundations a sort of marker for home's final resting place.
No wonder it's ghost still haunts this place. Will have to do something about that. . .
