It’s a solid, sturdy sort of house and looks to be in good condition. The yard, fences and boundary wall are tidy enough. There’s nothing scruffy about it, and no sense of decay. And yet it looks unhappy.
More than that, it looks resigned to its fate. It has the air of a place that’s been lived in, but not loved; a house, but not a home. It needs someone to connect with it and form a partnership, to encourage it to show its true character and develop some self-esteem.
You’d think that fate would place it in my lap, wouldn’t you? But fate is ever pragmatic; fate rarely does fanciful.