Houses in Ruins Are my Guilty Pleasure.

There’s something so awkwardly beautiful within the observation of a broken house.

It forces an unattractive thought upon us, the thought that nothing is forever.

One day you move your family into a house that feels and smells new to you.

And, in the blink of an eye, your kids have grown, your hair is grey and the walls of your home are decaying, followed by the years you spent in it.

Meditate on death, and try to understand that the memories inside, are much more important than the outside appearance.

Wether the walls are fancy rarely matters to the soul.

What truly matters is the feelings you create inside of those walls.