The abandoned street had a gregarious soul that welcomed the company of all who came, yet she was stoic when alone, stoic when all had fled, for standing firm upon the good earth was the reason for her birth.
In the starlit night, the black comforting the moon above, the abandoned street began her dreaming, dreaming of the good times before and the ones she hoped would come in time.
The abandoned street had the patience of a loving titan of old, her spirit kept the pilot light on, sheltered in the walls of the homes. Her task, after all, was guardian, and there are times a guardian must take up her solemn duty of protection, even if she is the only one.
The blacktop street held the memories of street hockey and laughter, of good times and safe soles. With the patience of a mother the abandoned street waited, waited, waited, for the triumphant day of return. She waited for music, she waited for dance, she waited for the gentle joyful ambience.
Though the street hadn't heard laughter for a while, there were still the street-lamps, stubbornly shining into the night. It was as if they simply loved to share that amber glow, regardless of if anyone admired it. Under their steady watch the cream brickwork brought a nostalgic feeling, notions of romance under rainy skies. The road itself had that well-loved appearance, the traffic of decades having passed over it. This was a street where real life had been, the turning of skipping ropes and shrieks of children. Tom let his hand touch the bricks, perhaps its abandonment was a temporary thing, that the universe would bring the joy back this place.
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