On the back way to the St. Lawrence River, up near where Zach and I live, there are some old abandoned buildings. Since the very first time we passed them they peaked my interest and I knew I wanted to take pictures of them. Yesterday I finally got that opportunity. Abandoned buildings are something I have always been fascinated with. Zach hates them. He says they are an eye sore and need to be torn down. I find them mysterious and in a strange way romantic. These empty structures all have their own history scribbled onto the pages of their decaying walls. People once busied their hallways but now their voices are just echoes in the buildings memory. Something that once had such a great purpose no longer is needed and now the elements have taken over. Alone and empty they sit, while the rest of the world continues on around them.
I see these buildings as a symbol. So many times I have wanted to shut myself off from the rest of the world and abandon myself entirely. A hollow shell just waiting for the elements to take over. We are not so different these abandoned buildings and I. Memories scribbled in time of things that could have been that were. The thing that sets us apart? My abandonment comes from inside not from the world around me. I am loved and taken care of. Without any of that, I would have surely conformed to the elements and waisted away like an empty abandoned skeleton of the human I once was.