The house quickly became a billboard of beliefs, an advertisement for aspiration, and a place of poetry.
They wrote. They wrote. They wrote. And they wrote some more. Eventually, every empty line on that old house had been filled in. That didn’t matter. Those who came to that abandoned place which was now filled with so much life took the chalk and wrote it off in the margins, in between the lines, and even on walls that hadn’t been designed for expression. It had become impossible to harness the human heart.