At first the derelict shop had welcomed the peace, welcomed a time for solitude and reflection upon a life spent as a vessel for the community, for their needs and wants. As the days became months and seasons passed into the flow of years, it longed for someone to call it home, a person who would come and stay.
The derelict shop sung into the wintry wind; it sung a song to the springtime, an ode of love for her warmth to come.
The derelict shop dreamed of being a house. It was tired of the endless to and fro of feet that was followed by the nothing. It was ready for something, for someone, or perhaps a family of someones.
The derelict shop felt the same sun as the new spring flower and, to the perceptive eye, one could see it leaning into the rays.
The derelict shop was a memory of yesteryear awaiting renovation, awaiting someone with a gift for seeing "what could be?" rather than "what is?"
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