The Walls Remember Everything

The Walls Remember Everything

I leaned against plaster once,

Felt it pulse beneath my fingers.

Nothing cracked, nothing fell,

And yet it spoke in pressure.

Conversations I never had,

Arguments I refused to join,

Moments I thought forgotten,

Were all alive within the grain.

The house is not haunted by ghosts,

It is haunted by memory itself.

Rooms hum with layered events,

Older than my presence here.

Walls shift subtly when unobserved,

Corners bending toward meaning.

I feel them learn my habits,

And adjust for unseen observation.

Even paint smells differently afterward,

Absorbing intent I do not own.

I leave quietly, mindful of everything,

Knowing the walls are awake.