The House

This house has seen more things than she can bare to imagine.

The house doesn’t forget the two lovers, who spent lazy mornings wrapped up in each other. The walls hear what he says to her now, but they saw it for themselves, and they know he lies to protect her feelings. They saw the way he held the one before her, and heard how he whispered his love for her, just as he does with her now. Each wall in each room witnessed their intimacy, every stolen kiss, every passionate embrace, every time they made love.

She knows what the walls have seen, and hates that there was someone here before her. It doesn’t matter what she does, both she and the walls know, that his heart belonged to someone else before her. So she paints the ugly walls, hoping that she’ll paint over the images in her mind. The thought of their bodies tangled together, the realisation that if there’s been one before her, there could be one after. So she paints and makes the house hers. She stakes her claim on this life...on this home.

But new paint fades. It becomes tired and cracks over time, showing the truth written there on the bare plaster.

She knows that eventually, the walls will tell their story again. But what breaks her heart is that she knows it won’t be told to her.