Can someone please mark my story

As I walked, each step grew heavier, as though I was dragging chains behind me.
The weight of my own footsteps pressed down on the wet ground, and even carrying myself became almost impossible.
The raindrops hammered against my skin, heavier and colder with every second.
I knew I had to escape — to leave everything behind: my home, my memories, even the person I used to be.
I stumbled forward, the world around me blurring into grey and green.
Through the mist, I spotted an abandoned building, swallowed by wild bushes and creeping vines.
The plants clung to its cracked walls, as if trying to protect it from time itself.
I hesitated, then pushed the heavy, groaning door open. The air inside was thick with dust and silence.
In the corner, almost hidden beneath a layer of grime, sat a small treasure box.
I wiped the dust away with trembling hands and lifted the lid.
Inside, lying alone, was a photograph.
I picked it up carefully.
The edges were scorched, blackened by fire, and the image was faded — but clear enough.
A boy stood proudly in front of this very building, back when it was alive with colour and laughter.
I stared at it for a long time.
Was it me? Or someone I used to be?
Gently, I placed the photo back.
When I stepped outside, the rain had stopped.
The air felt lighter — almost lifting me off my feet — and the world seemed softer, somehow.
Maybe that was the message: no burden lasts forever.
I smiled, feeling free for the first time in years.