In the abandoned town, the boy alone trudged along, his footsteps filling the deserted streets with a strange echo as he did so. Shadows bowed down in old and unused playgrounds as he tried to find stories that were long gone. Whispering in the breeze the memories of leaves that are covered on rust. He was the only one who was understanding solitude: a story for the buildings now empty. With every step, I could hear the tale, the same tale of the community which was vibrant no longer. In these quiet moments, he found a haven, his life in the past, suturing the yarns unceasingly within the patterns of his solitude.
