Call Me Grumpy

  I see them all the time—empty, abandoned homes along the highways. Peeling paint, sagging roofs, windows staring blankly at the road. The storyteller in me can’t help but wonder who once lived there. What were their lives like? The laughter, the arguments, the holidays, the heartbreaks. Families grew up in those houses. Kids ran through the halls, meals were shared at the kitchen table, dreams were built under those roofs. And now, they sit empty. Forgotten. I can’t help but wonder why. Did someone walk away, thinking they’d be back, only to never return? Did an old couple live there until they just couldn’t anymore, leaving it behind like an old photograph tucked in a drawer? Maybe money got tight, and they had no choice but to go. Or maybe time just moved on, the world changing around it until the house no longer fit. Whatever the reason, these homes stand as ghosts of lives once lived. I drive past and find myself thinking about that last moment—the last time someone turned of...