The Rooms We Build
Would you walk beside me,
opening doors to these empty rooms inside of me?
Would you sit in them, breathing in the dust,
taking in the silence,
hearing the echo of your own heart
beating in the room?
Or would you notice the bookshelf on the wall,
the stories that live within the pages,
that speak a little deeper
into something that takes shape in your mind?
Would that make you notice the cracks in the walls
that kept trying to hold it together,
that hid the secrets
that I would never tell?
Would you want to break them down?
Or would that be enough
to walk away?
I hope to open the windows
and let the fresh air in,
the sun becoming warmth that you can bathe in,
joy that you can hold,
softness you can feel.
But I feel like I'm too heavy,
an hourglass of sand
that slips through your fingers,
time leaving behind
dancing silhouettes
that roam as memories.
But maybe we will shape the clay together,
laying a new foundation beneath these walls,
where my home becomes ours,
and the rooms become more,
with the bookshelves saying more
than they ever did when I was alone.
