story ch 1Fifteen years ago
i am....I am a writer disguised as the walls, seeing and hearing, feeling all. Have you heard that walls have ears? I have when they say it near. I watch the world and stand idly by; I hold up the roof, keep back the sky. All passing steps are my lullaby. A child runs bout the house, shaking the pictures the floor and myself. In walks in a smiling woman on the arm of an unhappy man, how can he not see all that he has, this is torture for me. I've seen the people come and go over three times fold I watch and weight and listen to what they do and say but never do they know neither what they have nor how lucky they can be.
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