I long for a career walking through empty houses vacated of all furniture and personality, walls once full of love and memories now bare with chipping paint and talk of being alone forever. Do you think if houses could talk they would tell you of all the people who walked through their lonesome hallways with no intent to return?
Do you think if walls could talk they would tell you of all the crayons that have been pressed against their plaster skin creating masterpieces that can’t be painted over? What about the day your dad got so drunk he punched right through the memories and your brother years later with chalky knuckles following in his footsteps? Would the windows board themselves up after you left?
Do you think the air vents still carry the sound of your mom telling your dad she doesn’t love him anymore? Do you think that house is waiting for someone to come along and fix it up again?
I spend my Saturday mornings furniture shopping for things that aren’t there and won’t ever be there. Do you think houses are like people or people are like houses because I can walk up cracked concrete steps everyday and I can run my hand down the oak door wondering how many people have stood in my spot before and if their legs ever buckled ?
I can grab that cold metal knob but I can’t ever turn it because I’m not ready to confront the crumbling walls of a house that was once a home.
– Kelsie Byers