I lay in bed every night and stare at the ceiling,
I notice the crack in the ceiling,
the peeling paint.
I think of how the ceiling must yearn to be like the
surrounding walls,
Finely coated with no exterior damage.
I think of how much the ceiling
must want to be “perfect”,
just like them.
But then again, though what is outside
is unharmed,
what is inside has been through torture...
depression...
The supports have been rotted...
the frames have cracked...
It is hard to fix, yet easy
to neglect and cover up.
But what’s hardest, is to forget.
Maybe the ceiling feels better about itself,
knowing that no one is
perfect.
Ha,
It’s a silly thought…
It is just a ceiling.