When Ghost Towns Speak
Once lively, vibrant, full of life; there came a darkness that envied everything constructed in the light of her. A raging, fiery cloud of temper, fanned by insecurities and swirling in dark remorse. It cast a shadow over everything. Voracious flames eventually enveloping all it touched, even itself; and the life within was suffocated.
And this is how ghost towns are made-
Coward. One who chooses to tear down what could have been built up with the exact same effort.
Fear. A power tool used to expedite the process.
Anger. The mortar between each stone, brick and board, once the passion that held together foundation and frame; now ripped apart and hurled onto a heap of rubble- a pitiful image of the remnants of destruction.
Remorse. The discarded nails and screws and pieces no longer whole; scattered about, bent and damaged, with no more purpose but wishful thinking and reminiscing of what once was.
Bitterness. Stepping back to survey the demolition. And then dancing around it as if celebrating a masterpiece.
Silence. The air left between the brokenness of the abandoned; begging to be heard in the stillness of the quiet, forgotten tomb that once housed something beautiful.
And the town sobbed in isolation at what was left of her. She cried out for who she was before this ruined mass of char and splinters. She longed for the strength in the tenderness of newly built dreams. Back to a place and time that was sturdy and safe, and love flowed through her walls and out into her streets.
But all was lost. Or so it felt. And then, she had nothing left to do but hope.
Hope. Is realizing that the choice is the real power. It’s the effort to restore, instead of tear down, what’s been destroyed. It’s believing the effort is worth it. It’s not listening to fear, anger, remorse, or bitterness to silence what needs to be heard.
As many times as it takes.
That’s how ghost towns breathe new life and live in the light once again.
Then she looked around seeing hope within her doors, and down her streets, and for the first time in a long time, because it was hers to choose, she felt beautiful once more.