Listen.

These walls and what they contain. The windows and the winds that fight their way through. The rattling of your door. The soft, yet pale walls have something to say. Listen.

On a dark, silent and lonely night. Listen to what this house tells you. Listen to the tales of joy it has seen. Listen to the pain it has witnessed. The sonnets, the ballads, the accounts of love and hate. Listen.

Hark to the innocence that got lost among the ruble of lies and deceit. Listen to the truths, the ones that were hidden and those that were exposed. Listen to the secrets. The ones these walls have hidden and the ones these windows vented out. Listen to the child that grew. Listen to the childhood. Listen to the youth, and the, seemingly, maturing adult. Listen.

Hear what this house has to say. It has been silent for far too long. Or perhaps you were too naive to listen. Too engrossed in the voices that pleased you, ones that instigated you. Listen to to the unheard words. Now that silence engulfs this otherwise bustling place you called home; listen to what this home has to say.

Listen. Can you not? Listen to the neglected, the ignored, the unheard. Listen to what has been said. Listen to what slipped out. Listen to what these walls saw. Listen to what they saw you do. Listen to what they saw. Listen to what they witnessed. Listen.

The night is still dark, silent and lonely. The tales these walls hold are countless. For the first time...listen.