walls | Teen Ink


March 27, 2019
By stoleyourjams BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
stoleyourjams BRONZE, Brooklyn, New York
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

For everyone else, it’s completely ordinary. It seems like everyone likes talking to something that can’t respond back. For me, I have to know what other people think. I enjoy talking to people, not walls. Everyone I have met so far only ever seem to be interested in themselves, ignorant of the truth. They listen to what they want to hear, and if they don’t get that they’ll turn to a wall to “share opinions”.

When I walk down the streets, all I see are just walls talking to walls; some exactly the same while others have only one of their own kind. This place is filled with only atrocity, and it only has been the way I see it. It was one day however, that from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a wall; one that had colors that rustled a sense of life, one that was able to seduce me in a way that no other has. I looked around and noticed that everyone else hasn’t made any sort of move of regard towards this wall. I made my way towards it, footsteps bouncing lightly against the concrete ridden sidewalk for the first time.

The soft pastels of the screen traced my thoughts, flourishing in colors of blues and pinks and reds. The palette clashed against themselves, waves of hues resilient among one another. Words that have always wanted to come out now couldn’t find a way to place itself in a now genuine conversation. I placed my hands against the confines of the wall and a sudden impact of various stances ripped into me.

For once, I was able to view both sides of the partition. For once, there was something to think about. For once, I’m able to make judgement the way I should be able to. With a surge of incite, I was off, ready to talk, ready to provide my side of things. But of course; as soon as I open my mouth, the colors start fading. The once moving paints of the wall start to die. The once rainbow touch of the beauty now dulled to everyone else’s dark, splotchy grey. Like that, the remnants of hope I thought existed for the good of our place vanished into thin air. In the end, walls will be walls, and there isn’t anything that can be changed about that.

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