If Walls Could Talk...

My walls have seen a lot.
They've watched pain and anguish settle in the corners. They've seen the shades of sad, of happy, of angry.
I don't know what words they would keep; they would only feel the heavy ache.
They've stood through late nights and sudden rage, through the quiet shattering of breakups and lost friendships.
They've held diary entries pressed against them and caught the muffled sounds of yelling.

Under this pressure, this thick tension,
these walls would crack and break down.
They could never take it.
Yet I can. I have to be strong—
I was taught to hold the weight.

I envy the walls.
They were simply made that way,
unfeeling and unbothered.
They don't understand.
They never could,
because they aren't human.

I wish I didn't have to understand either.
I wish I could turn away from the sharp looks
and tune out the low whispers. I wish I was like the walls;
Strong.
Free.
Normal.

If these walls could talk...
but they can't.
And they never will.