Sometimes the walls call to me.

Sometimes the walls call to me.

They call to me when I read about some inspiring people doing some inspiring things that I can't do. Can't because I don't want to, not because I don't have the skill.

Sometimes the walls call to me and I don't answer back. But they get louder and louder until a pull so magnetic builds up behind my eyes and I feel the pressure. The pressure that's so heavy, it feels like I am leaning to them, not them calling to me.

Sometimes the walls call to me, in her voice, telling me not to think about her. And it's not the walls that want me to bang my head against them. it's me who wants to, and I know just enough to know that I shouldn't.

To be or not to be. that is the question. Sometimes the walls call to me, asking what I want to do versus what I am supposed to do. What others want me to do versus what I should do. What I desire versus what is expected.

Sometimes the walls call to me to do and I just do.