Dear Sanity 001

-A collection of inebriated thoughts-

Dear Sanity,

I am writing this merely to enquire as to your nature regarding this house. What presence exists within its walls, what life? How does it echo my own, and if so, is my own one which resonates within the bellow of its halls? I have lived countless lives, worn countless faces and put on countless shows, but after all, there is just me and this house.

We become so accustomed with our forms of time-keeping, we forget the way in which time is truly measured, in the creaking groans of old wooden floors and the undecided cracks of walls, still moving, inch by inch, year by year... yet their story is forgotten. My own life cannot surpass a crack in the wall of this house, yet I feel my life has seeped in through it, just as many others have, and that solemn collection of life wells up at the core of this foundation's foundation, be it physical or otherwise.

We all move on like this, depositing ourselves in creaks and cracks, dispersed across the world, or at least the shallow interpretation of it we accomplish in our short 80-odd-years. We come and go and there is nothing left of us but the walls in which we have lived.

So where do I stand? Will it be me who remembers this house, or this house which remembers me? Will my life, as wondrous and full as it may be, surmount to nothing less than a few more inches on a crack in the wall?

Regards,
Who Knows