I love houses. I love hotels too. I love buildings in general. But not new buildings. I love decrepit, old, crumbling, ruined and abandoned buildings. On the brink of being forgotten.

I like to imagine how people lived in these buildings, what they experienced there. Perhaps they fell in love inside them. Perhaps they died inside them. Perhaps they wondered whether they had truly understood the meaning of life. I know I haven’t. I know there are plenty of us in that boat. Anyway, let’s get back to the houses and buildings.

I used to enjoy urban exploration back when I still had my car. I’d drive off into the unknown (or sometimes not quite so unknown – sometimes I knew exactly where to go to find a decaying building). I felt a combination of excitement, fear (that everything might collapse beneath my feet as I entered a room completely ravaged by time and nature), and a deep sense of joy at being there, even though the building was barely standing anymore.

To sum up, I love anything that has a history. Things that have stories to tell or a silence to share. I love houses. And I love buildings. I love decrepit, old, crumbling, ruined and abandoned buildings.

On the brink of being forgotten.