The bright white front door wasn’t very special; it was just like any other,

And then therein were several rooms, where one was just like another.

The walls seemed so commonplace, nothing at all extraordinary.

Like many other homes, the walls were painted simply, the average off-white,

But, what made these walls different was that these walls weren’t quiet.

If one was very still in that place, the ordinary came to an abrupt end,

And then true reality and the surreal began to mysteriously blend.

For they whispered of a woman who had once lived within these walls,

Who laughed and cried here, and sometimes paced up and down the halls.

They told of a single again woman who was scared to live in this place, all alone,

But she kept in touch with friends, they told, by computer and telephone.

Single again after many years, she socialized with her friends from time to time,

For shopping excursions, dinner at a nice restaurant and a glass of sweet wine.

Single again, she dated, but only those men who made her heart pleased,

Whose kisses made her toes curl, kisses that made her weak in the knees.

Whispers reverberated about how her days almost always ended when she wept

In her romantically decorated room, on the sumptuous bed in which she slept.

The walls heard phone calls from someone she loved; calls that inspired her to write,

Typing throughout the long day and into the much longer, cold and lonely night.

She wrote many letters of love and poems, ordinarily passions of the heart,

Writing of elusive love’s sweet joy and the cruel pain that love could impart.

Many of the nights, nights that were dark, cold and lonely, they told,

She’d cry, curl up in a favorite quilt, with nothing but a pillow to hold.

She longed for a love that would keep her safe and warm, cuddle her close,

And fill her ears with sweet whispers of passion, that he loved her the most.

The walls watched as she sat at her desk and keyboard, typing verse and prose,

Tapping away on all those keys, pouring out her heart with a click-click of those.

One day faded into the next, and before she could realize what was going on,

She looked in the mirror, and instead of a youthful face, she saw an old woman.

The walls watched her write novels, and volumes of her poetry and poetic prose,

And witnessed when a man’s kisses made her weak and would curl up her toes.

She had been loved by the rich and famous, but yearned for her one special one,

So within the walls, she remained alone, finally becoming a lonely, old woman.

The walls told everything about her, about how she yearned for one to hold dear,

While holidays and her birthdays flowed one into the other with each passing year.

Although aging, she kept hoping her prince would scoop her up and away,

But as she waited longer, she realized never would come that day.

Within the walls, behind the locked front door, the walls witnessed her daily life.

As she sought her one special one, her loneliness only made for daily strife.

Too busy, the people who knew her well thought she was extraordinarily strong,

But as it too often happens with commonplace judgments, they were very wrong.