The hospital where my mother was born, stands defiant and vacant. Contrasting the dull greys and blues of the row homes adjacent, its windows beckon me to peer in and visit with memories that are not my own.
Ghosts of healing and grandiose attempts at staving off death.
It is a magnificent portrayal of irony in prolific proportions. A true representation of how nature always wins out… in the end.
Beautiful, just like my mother.
(Real Picture of the Hospital above)