...An abandoned house is as rejective as a corpse. It is cold, even physically, like a corpse. I have written a poem a long time ago, about an abandoned house which was in fact, a woman who lost her lover to battle, and she stayed at his grave so much, that she died of hunger. The grave was lost and later on, a house was built there. But the house eventually met the same fate, as it was abandoned and a very cold air always used to come out of it. Now that I thought about it, I will re-write that poem.
I love abandoned houses, villages, places. I love that eerie scent of old-age poetry that eludes from its windows, embraced by that cold touch. They are as cold as a corpse can be, colder than the "ambiental temperature". When I touched a corpse, it seemed colder than normal. Why is that?