We never speak, we need not say words because you see it all. We have secrets and we have hush hush issues, and you know them all. And you're beautiful because you never speak, you listen and you watch, but ridicule is never evident. If I were to confide in pillows, then you would know. If I were to say goodbye to a significant other and plant the kiss of death on the throes of depression, you would know. If I were to say my hellos and goodbyes and do all the things that I was never to do, you would be waiting for me to speak, to gesture, to show emotion. And you're good like that; always waiting, but never acting. And you were so smart like that; always so silent, but screaming at the same time. But you are so tacit because you never like to speak a word and you see the folly that lies within time and my actions.

We have a mutual relationship, you, a sound board of all my imaginative thoughts and ideals, and me, a mere personification of confusion and sin. And you stand by me, lending your ear, listening for my dispair, for my joy, for my every dream.

On rainy days like this, in an impersonal hotel room, with the rain pounding outside, I feel alone. All of my thoughts are spilled across the canvas in my mind and you see and hear everything. Not one detail forgotten, each etched into your skin like a wound too deep to heal. In my time of vulnerability and uneasiness, you're the only one who sees the expression on my face. An expression filled with fear and a pain so wretched that it makes my insides hurt. You seem to know of all the shameful things I've done, and you see right through me. I'm a sliding glass door to you, and you can walk right through me.

I'm stripped of my defenses and looks of pride and arrogance. I'm translucent when I'm around you, I'm the loose hanging painting that is nothing but red paint splashed across a tell all canvas, not anything philosophical or meaningful, just a splash of tempra. And now, as I try to face my backside to you, too overwhelmed by the honesty in the room, you still face me. You're everywhere, and I cannot escape you.

You're my only friend, and I am forced to confide in you, my voice bouncing off the corners of the room, and it is the only sound heard in the room.

But yet you listen and you don't dare speak. You cannot speak, you cannot bear qualms, because you can't even respond. You're silent and you're inanimate.

You're the walls in this empty room filled with only myself and quiet.

But yet you're singing my requiem, filled with grandeur and complete silence. My own blood is pasted across your skin, across the soft taupe wallpaper skin of yours.