(whispers from the dark)

Iceland is home to hundreds of now abandoned buildings, looming on the fringes of well travelled roads, silent but present.

Each one tells a story of the lives that once inhabited the space - once treasured belongings slowly disintegrating with time, dusted with a fresh layer of snow, dirt and leaves.

Why do we feel uneasy upon entering abandoned places? Why is it we can still feel a presence, a memory, the familiar turned unfamiliar?

There is a stillness in these places that deeply resonates with me. The forgotten, the unmoving, the dead - witnessing the change of seasons and the ravaging of time.

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