The mysterious art gallery that intrigued all was opened at a place like this. Not only that, this place had closed down and had ended up in ruins. I stood before the ruins and felt a flurry of emotions.
The sun shone through the thin layer of clouds onto what was once a land filled with art, but it could no longer light up the dusty, forgotten memories.
In the rubble, the broken infrastructure told a story of its former glory and current desolated state. Every brick seemed to tell a story unknown to many.
As I slowly walked through the ruins, the rubble and the weeds that had grown seemed to tell of the unforgivingness of time.
The wall outside the art gallery may have collapsed but the inner structure of the building was still intact. What was once walls filled with masterpieces were now just filled with specked traces of what it was like it was trying to call out silently to its former glory.
I tried to find new clues in the ruins, but all I found in the end was an old photo album worn out by time.
Only one photo was clear in that album. It was my mother’s wedding photo from all those years ago.
In that photo, my mom had a bright, bashful smile and her eyes gleamed with hope for the future. She nestled by Jack’s side, and they both looked so young, so full of life.
At that moment, it was almost like I had traveled back in time and had witnessed that pure, beautiful love with my own eyes.
Sadly, the reality behind the photo was one colored with complex emotions that seemed to speak about the unknown secrets behind this wedding.
I kept that photo carefully and a strong desire arose in my heart to know more about this piece of history, so I could unveil the mystery behind it all.
I might not be able to say much, but I knew someone could give me some answers.
After much consideration, I’ve still returned to this-I planned to visit Jack in prison.
The day I planned to do that had bad weather, like it was fated. The skies were gloomy and grey, adding a
sense of heaviness to this journey I was about to partake in.
The wind was slightly chilly, signifying the arrival of fall as it scooped up some fallen leaves and danced them around my feet.
I tightened the collar of my clothes and went on my path to the prison. My heart was filled with anticipation and anxiousness.
The prison door was heavy and cold. Every time it opened and closed, it seemed to announce the boundary between freedom and captivity.
I took a deep breath, pulled myself together, and stepped in.
The prison hallway was long and quiet with occasional sounds of metal doors opening and closing, and low murmuring conversation breaking through the oppressive silence.
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I followed the prison guards and went through barred, metal gates until I finally arrived at the visitation room.
This would be the place where I would meet Jack once more.
The light in the visitation room was a warm, yellow hue, but it could not chase away the complex emotions I was feeling in my heart.
I sat on the cold chair and waited for that once familiar, yet unfamiliar figure to appear.
Time seemed to have frozen. Every second seemed unusually long.
Finally, the door reopened, and Jack
walked into the visitation room slowly. His gait was heavy, his face was forlorn. Time and the weight of reality had left their marks deeply on his face.
When our eyes met, I felt no hope or sentiments toward him.