It’s another rainy day in Vancouver. I don’t mind the rain. You either go outside and continue on with your life or you stay confined by four walls. I’m alone in here, listening to some Boyce Avenue while I organize my room and get rid of things I no longer need. I decided to take a break and wonder about my four walls. What have they seen, what have they heard, you know the saying “if walls could talk”….
I decided to think about what my walls would say and it got downright intense.
My walls would be angry at me for taking out my anger on them sometimes. For throwing things at them when I get frustrated. For leaning on them when I’m crying. For making them listen to me.
My walls would express annoyance of my constant poking it with pictures, paintings, posters, changing the identity from beige to yellow to artsy to blank. You could say my walls have multiple personalities. Some days they’ll provide a positive outlook with quotes of inspiration, other days they are a blank space, just staring at me with no expression.
My walls are dented, damaged, there are patches of where I’ve tried to cover up the damage but yet remain so visible. My walls have scars thanks to me.
My walls have seen every side of me. They would tell you about what they have seen–days of weakness, sadness, depression, success, happiness. If my walls could talk, it would tell you about how many nights I’ve cried over broken hearts, how I’ve whispered to myself that everything would be okay. My walls would tell you that I sing too loud. Or that I sometimes converse with myself like I’ve lost it because I felt so alone or it would tell you that I really need to work on my timing for presentations. They’ve even seen me work out–they’ve seen every inch of my insecurities.
My walls have seen my good days, my bad days, my weird days. If my walls could talk…they would tell you so much. Only they’ve seen the real person. It’s a good thing that they can’t talk…