Poe it try

It goes something like this:

All around me I watch the world slowly disassemble, then reassemble itself on a daily basis. 

There is a house on the corner that (at some point) must have been filled with life, with a family, with air and breathing, and beating of hearts, and running feet... probably barefoot feet.

But now, all I see is a collection of stuff nobody wants or nobody ever owned: some old speaker cabinets without speaker cones, used paint, futons, chairs, pillows, in all sorts or decay and decrepitude.

I never see anyone take these things out, nor see anyone take them. It is as if through osmosis, the house is slowly seeping its contents onto the street, next to the brown-purple-black splatters from plums falling from a tree behind a fence.

I see the man with the shopping cart delicately search his belongings for a cassette tape, a brush, a calendar, knowing that it is not a house that makes it home but the aura emanating off of the artifacts you touch carefully, each day, with love.

And it is sad, truly it is, but I can't help but smile a little. Because as this world is breathing out, your world is inhaling. I know that on the polar opposite of the globe, people are taking all of these things and reassembling them into something beautiful, something useful.