you don't need paintSometimes when I'm alone at night, I listen to the walls.My ear rubs against the rough paint job as I listen carefully.They whisper, almost inaudible to me.I listen, and they say, "paint me. Make me beautiful."I say "but you're beautiful the way you are..."the walls tense, this is not the answer they wanted."Please, paint me. Make me beautiful."I cannot refuse, so I collect my brush.I let the brush slide against the wall without even thinking, closing my eyes.I step back, look carefully. My ear goes to the wall once more."Am I beautiful?" The wall asks, soothingly."Yes." I answer.No color, no mural. I had painted the walls without paint.The brush slid against the wall without paint to spread, but love.The walls didn't need paint to be beautiful,Neither do you.