I'm singing the sunrise as I open my eyes to light intruding through the cloudy window. Each ray of sun illuminates the dust that's been hidden in the air and uncovers the room that's been hidden in the years. The floorboards speak after long days of silence as my I make my way across the dim-lit room. I can feel the uneven wood as I stand on the tips of my toes, and the peels in the paint as my fingertips wander the wall. Standing still while I wander. Funny how that works. My fingers and my toes discover the aging beauty of a room that stood through the battery of time. I freeze as I hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway, the muffled shouting from across the room, the windowpane shaking from the thunder, the jingle from a cats collar, and a million other violent sounds bombarding my delicate ears all at once. Suddenly, silence. Now my hands tremble in awe of the magnitude at which the time in the walls can speak to you, and my knees greet the ground. My awakened eyes begin to see that every scream that pierced the walls, every stomp that shook the floors, and every beating the window took from relentless rain created a beauty in the walls that was only attainable through time.