The weather worn notice states, ‘No entry’
Faded, mossy, tinged with green.
I push the gate and it squeals, birds in nearby trees fly out.
Ahead lies a white shed.
Over time a crack has appeared, a faultline in the fabric of the building.
Ruptured, severed, broken
Cut off from the world outside.
Its history filed away in a memory long forgotten.
I run my hands over the walls. Slightly slimy and damp.
A hundred secrets hidden behind, So many conversations heard.
The plaster crumbles away in my hand leaving a chalky residue.