All her life,

she was perceived

as nothing more

than a blank, white wall.

Simple,

plain,

and mediocrely

a painted surface.

Or so it seemed.

If you truly knew her,

you would see intricate,

yet flummoxed,

details of her entire existence.

All that remained:

merely talking to her.

You cannot see such,

can you?

Like many walls,

none noted her presence

until winter's hum

glided openly along.

Why;

might you wonder?

Oh,

how solely all was due

to the fact

that everyone else

sought for the world outside.

Something,

if not anything more,

than just an empty wall.

No one ever

honestly took her

into account.

Time pursued on

as surrounding walls changed,

though she lingered as plain.

Quietly,

a once bold wall

drifts towards evanesce.

What now can,

or more importantly,

should anyone do?

What will you do?

She was

just a wall,

after all.