Text and photography by Patrick La Roque
This is where I used to live — This house that remembers everything, where nothing ever changes. This house of everlasting flowers and clocks stilled by the weight of years and books and games on stand-by; everything forever on stand-by.
But there's a stirring...
Time is finally pushing against the walls. We hear it banging at the door, its wild face pressed against the window, screaming in anger. Objects have already begun to fade, quietly, and we know what's coming... We've seen that emptiness in the distance, riding in on thunderheads.
This is where I used to live, where everything still stands — for now.
