WyckWyck

The things I’ve lived through, the scars I bear. They say age is just a number, but mine’s a century-stained canvas. My eyes have witnessed empires crumble, and my heart still beats for the beauty in decay. When the world outside is shrouded in darkness, I’m the flicker of candlelight that refuses to die. Some call me a relic, a fossil from another era. I call myself home.