Every building has a memory it keeps
It seems like they exchange stories with the stars
Each night the city sleeps
I walk in a quiet alley, and the houses look down on me.
We're the same, it's just that
I have borrowed bones, and they have not.
Within us, we all carry some tales from the past
And leave some others to rot.
I run my fingers on the wall as I walk ahead.
I can feel them whispering
As they sing about dead times and lost glories.
With our memories locked inside, I pull my hand away.
Though we have never met before,
We now share a past, like a bygone retreat.
In the end, that's all that architecture remains:
A frozen story
Waiting for a storyteller to meet.