Before I was even an idea, before the house I was born and raised in, there was only a farm. On which, there was a storage structure used for firewood and lonely tools too big for the barn. In the 1990’s, a unknown man hung himself. My family never knew anything more about him, but his death and anonymousness haunted my childhood.
The structure is now delapdated, surrounded by brambles and wooden beams that have rotted away. It can barely hold its own weight let alone the weight of depression. As the structure slowly crumbles, I think of the man’s soul gaining freedom, becoming lighter until it can finally release its pain and move on.