If Walls Could Talk

If walls could talk, what would they say? Luckily for you, I have many stories to share – I’ve been around for a while. I was made by the loving hands of a farmer, pieced together stone by stone, and fused with mortar made by hand. You see, when you stay in a place long enough, you impart your energy on it – and when you make something with love, some of that love remains.

My farmer loved his wife. She was a little thing, you know, small and quiet, with long dark hair that was sleek like a lake. My farmer loved his wife, and so I loved her too. When she laughed it was like church bells ringing, and when she sang I could have sworn she was an angel. They were your great grandparents' great grandparents, I think. Together they washed me with lime to keep me clean and took care to keep me whole.

Oh, the things these whitewashed walls have seen, the stories I could tell you! I have seen war and famine, births, and deaths. I have celebrated and mourned; I have loved, and I have lost. I remember it all and keep it close. You are my beating heart after all.

I see you, you know, and all that you have done. Look at me, feel my cool stones. Do you see where your parents measured your height, and their parents measured theirs? Can you see the drawings you did so long ago, that never quite faded? You have left your mark on me as have all those who came before you. I contain multitudes, the memory of generations. So why do you cry, little one? A hundred years of love have led to you, and I saw them all. You are not a mistake.

We are but haunted vessels, you and I. Wisdom, I think, is human, but I have learnt in my time how to be wise. You are not as alone as you feel. Walls cannot stand on their own – without these solid foundations I would crumble into nothing. Where are your foundations little one? Who supports you when you cannot support yourself? I can hold you up when you weep, I can be strong when you feel weak – but I am just a wall.

Only a wall.

If walls could talk, what would they say? What would I say? I would tell you that you are loved, and that you matter. That even on your darkest days I am here, waiting. And when you are gone, I will remember you.

I remember everyone who has left.

Who will remember me when I am gone? That is my greatest fear you know – not that I will be forgotten (for no one remembers a wall), but that all these years of love, all these memories that I hold, will be lost with me. So I tell you my story now in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you will remember me.

When my foundations crumble, what will be left of me? No longer will I be a wall, just a memory of a home. In the quiet dusk, memories will dance across long forgotten floorboards. Laughter echoes in eaves that are no longer there, ringing like a church bell.

And what of you, little one? Where will you be? I wonder where the road will lead you, when you step across that threshold for the final time. Will you look back, one last time, before stepping through that gate? Everyone leaves eventually, but that’s okay. I will protect you, and shelter you, until the time is right. One day you will forget these white walls, but I will not forget you. I will remember you in my stones, until one by one they return to the earth. Like all things, this too shall pass.

So don’t weep, little one. You are stronger than you know, and more important than you think.

I love you.