The walls weren’t much to look at. They had some decorations spruced sparingly throughout the living room and the rest of the house. A world map made out of corkboard adorned the main living room wall, and adjacent to it, three black-framed african figurines. No pins marked any of the continents.
Everything has a place, a home, yet everything seems a bit disjointed. The coffee table made of dark balsa wood with a glass top showcases the random items that have made an overextended stay. No vibrant colors, only uniformity, nothing to high, nothing too low. Light stretches across the rooms but the overall luminance would strain an outsider.
It is a home which clearly has been lived in – where there was once passion and hope, now doom surrounded everything, and just beyond the reaches of the farthest light lies the whispers of what once was.