Eden is real. It’s only a hundred and seventy miles from here. I go there several times a year. It’s for sale if you want to steal it. I would myself but I can’t afford it.
When it sells to another family, I will wonder how it came to be, that the place I love the most on earth, where I lived for five years after my birth, the only place that calms me down, was sold to tourists from out of town.
It’s a travesty. And if it finally comes to be. With it will go a piece of me.