I sit here now among things just like me. The grass has withered and dried. All the structures have fallen down, and the soil is too sick for anything new to grow. Even the path is being overtaken by decay.

But it didn’t use to be like this. You would never believe what this place was like before. There was soft, lush grass that tickled your legs as you ran through. Flowers everywhere, in all sorts of colors that radiated with such beauty you would grow jealous of them. The path wasn’t for getting through, but it was how we got to each other. The path was the highway which love traveled and joy began.

There were homes all lined up in rows. They weren’t large, but what did that matter when heaven waited outside your door. We knew they were just for resting, outside is where life was.

Hope used to be here. Not hope that things would get better, but that the rest of the world could experience the life we had right here. A life where all we needed was each other; a dream we thought no entity could tear asunder.

Perhaps it was our own fault. Our patriarchs and matriarchs left us behind for the next life and we couldn’t figure out how to carry on here. We didn’t know our identity without them, so we went in search of something we thought was greater. One by one we all left this place, and because of it, this place has now left us too. So instead of taking our hope out there, what was out there has taken our hope from here.