Phantasmagoria | Poems of life
(Taken from the page's comments): When my father was very little they moved from their town to the city with all their earthly belongings in sacks and boxes, all they could afford was a fence around their property. My father told me that they went to bed every night freezing and their beds were made from cardboard boxes and newspapers. Eventually they were able to build a single room and were able to stay warm (a room shared by 8 or so people mind you). That house today is three stories tall but was never completely finished, to this day you can see the house from afar like a beacon in a sea of whites and browns because of its yellow and red colored bricks (the only one like it on that side of the street).
When you lose the passion for things that once brought you joy and realizing that no matter how much you plan things out, life always has its twists and turns.