...𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓈𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓁𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓎'𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓊𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓃𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈...

𝐵𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓎 𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝓎𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓃𝓎𝓌𝒶𝓍𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝓎𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑒𝓈𝑜𝒻 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝑔𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓎

Tracing the cold iron, feeling the phantom  warmth of hands that once held me.The wind whistles through the empty spaces,  a mournful symphony of what used to be.Where we built our dreams, brick by fragile  brick, now only scaffolding...