Four walls. Two windows. One door.
I did a lot of growing up in here.
The mere thought of this room becoming another’s… it’s almost unbearable.
Like giving a piece of your soul to a stranger.
What would these walls say, if only they could talk?
Would it tell you stories of laughter, and friendship?
Would it tell you stories of sorrow and tears?
Maybe it would tell you of the time when a girl whispered into the phone as she spoke, praying no one would ever hear her.
Or the time she first felt the burn of alcohol leave her throat.
All the times she danced alone, all the dreams she had.
All the hurt. And the healing.
This room aches with memories, that pulse through it like waves…
I smile to myself.
These walls tell my story.
And now, they will tell yours.