waLL

It’s sad, isn’t it? How he just stares at the wall, time washing over him like a waterfall.

Are there faces in the stone? Does the flatness sooth his itchy brain? Or is it because it is simply there? Solid. Constant. Asking for nothing but giving him everything, it seems. Perhaps its off-white, eggshell façade is the perfect resting place for weary eyes that would rather stare than cry? Who knows what it is he sees? Maybe you? Maybe me? Maybe nothing at all; and sometimes nothing can be everything.

Let’s not lose our heads until he starts banging his. Let’s not fret until polite conversation is made between the two; even if it’s only small chittering chat talk clichés of passing strangers in the street. If that happens, phone calls will be made.

But no harm ever came from just staring, especially at walls, so let him stare. The wall is not to blame, it’s only doing its job; it’s just a different type of support, a different way to protect, that’s all.

And now I come to think about it, that’s not a sad thing at all.