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Dereliction is tricking me into believing it's alive, but I don't mind. The Friendly Church may no longer house any welcoming humans, but I get a sense of belonging just seeing her still standing. The front doors won't open anymore, they're wedged under the weight of a tilting tower, gravity worrying down. I think I was made for times like these, to come along right when everything was ending, and falling in love. It's like making friends at the hospice, listening to stories at the old folks home, just before they're forgotten. I spot my heart in the silences, the spaces between speaking that get a little crowded with feeling. I wear it on my sleeve, but I don't grieve, there's a joy in joy fading...