I am walking down the streets of Azuga. As I.m passing by groups of red-chicked people I get to thinking about stories: old ones, evergreen tails of magical castles, imaginary stories that my synapses create constantly and, unfortunately, one time only.
As I seeked answers to my infinite questions I noticed some abandoned houses, vintage looking, but too sad to tell. I had one Salitos in my backpack and one Kinder Bueno in my pocket. The last ones of this year I decided.
As aproaching to the railway station I got to thinking about those houses. They very much resemble to one.s soul. There comes a moment in your life when you feel like a hounted house. Used , filled with memories, pieces of time created between its walls, mixed feelings and emptiness. u just lay there wainting for some one to notice, to need you. People enter a hounted house with curious eyes and fear in their chest. The same way they approach you.
Once in, they encounter endless possibilities of spending time and of creating stories.
But a hounted house is a hounted house. Leaving without thinking twice seems to be the only answer. Building a relationship such as making one found house yours is too hard, risky and time consuming. I couldn.t help but wonder: whose fault is it? Is the house not liveable or are the people too afraid to care?
Are you to be abandoned without a chance? Without trust in your power to respond as expected? If you buy a hounted house you always get a bonus: it.s personality. The marks time left there in its one way journey. You can destroy them or you can add some bricks, an appropiate colour and a personal touch. People are like houses. You have to discover them, take the time to see them, I mean to really see them, and eventualy buy.
They are like long term investments and they always pay back.