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I have nothing inside. I am empty, like the fallen tree in the forest that had died from the inside out, making me hollow.  Anyone and anything can come inside of me, find a place to find shelter for the night. At daylight, they scurry off ready to begin a new day, leaving me alone and empty once more. They do not thank me for the shelter or warmth I provide, for I am seen as no longer alive. I am only seen as a thing that once was, not that which I am now. No one can remember my splendor, only that I now lie in ruin and decay.
I am no longer respected or revered.
I am nothing but hollow.