This was the house where I grew up in.

axel stevens

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I decided to ask. Just ask, no ? The idea had been brooding in my mind a long, long time.
I had passed the house countless times, on my way to the shops or going for groceries or for cigarettes at the local newspaper store.I had seen the people who had occupied the house over the years.
One day, the house was up for sale.Next thing you now, some new owner started a renovation job.

It broke my heart.This was the house we grew up in. Hoogstraat 95 ( meaning Highstreet 95 in Flemish/Dutch) the name of the street and the house number. My brother and I spend most of our youth here. The future had yet to begin.Little did we know.Life wasn't friendly.But it was beautiful.

I would stroke the red weathered bricks every time I passed the house.
So I put on my brave hat and stepped through the open front door and said hello. We introduced.The guy was young ; early or mid twenties. Everything, or almost everything was completely ripped out. Bare brickwork remained.
I explained who I was and that I grew up in his house.I told him who my parents were.

We agreed that I would come by the next day, a friday, to take some photographs.
The guys were working hard and the rooms in the house were full of dust, I had my tripod and camera with me, I wanted to capture the past, the funky torn and ripped wallpaper and the seventies stickers on that same wallpaper.

I have dreamt countless dreams about living in the house, being a child again.With my mum and dad.

I guess it's that time of year again.
Our mum's grave is up for removal.It's been twenty five years now.She has to go. A second time.

Memories remain.

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