In every corner of my round body.

What am I? To you I'm just another room, an empty room. Four lifeless corners, dusty furniture and rusty windows. A neglected room. That's what I am.
To others I was once home, a place where they found shelter, where they felt at peace, where they had lunch at one table, where they laughed, cried and mainly felt comfortable. It might be the place where he first made love to his true love, where he first saw his son make his first step, where his daughter said her first word or where he wrote his first book. In every corner there's a memory scattered in the walls; a laughter, a tear or an unspoken word. All that might seem inconvinient to you, however it still proves there's life in that room.

Who said you can judge me based on my appearance? What, in your opinion, proves there is life somewhere? Is it the mess its inhabitants make? The noise? The smell caused by their presence? Is it their constant movement? None of that. It's the memory they leave behind. A room that means nothing to you might mean a lot to another person.

Life doesn't necessarily mean movement, noise, a mess or daily-life-smells. Yet, I mean nothing to you, I am just another neglected room you want to reset. A room with nonexistent memories. Four walls that-if taken care of-would provide you with a fortune. A fortune you make by executing my identity, my existence. You get rid of my dusty furniture, my rusty thoughts, my windblown belongings, my neglected curtains, the pictures hanging on my walls, the last evidence of life and most importantly, you get rid of the memories. You execute me to build up your own world, your own life. You can erase my identity, get rid of everything I am including my memories, yet you can't get rid of the life there is in me. There's life in every corner of my helpless and defenseless being, no matter what you say.

That might apply to a destroyed room, but it might as well apply to a person. A mentally, morally and physically destroyed human being.