observing in a silent way there's a house in the distance, in which every_room_is_a_scar. fibrous tissue has grown up as an erratic elegy to the ghosts of those who left the place behind long ago. at some point i'll have to make my way to the front steps, and mount them with a vague sense of dread filling my half-empty stomach, and walk around inside. but not just yet. for now i sit, fix my gaze on the outer shell, and try to imagine the lives once held within those walls. 130217 what's it to you? who go blather from