Creatures that live on your dirty white ceiling


I am counting seconds…

While laying here on your narrow bed.

It feels like a forever has passed since I woke up and yet you are still in the dream world… Probably chasing the ghosts of the past or getting spooked by unclear and formless illusions of the future.

Time and space are dancing with the regular specks of dust, creating thick heaviness in the room that is grounding my chest and locking me down. Yeah, and because of that I can’t get up and leave. Probably because of that. Most certainly… Not.

I’m staring at the ceiling now.

You are facing the wall.

Just our air-grasping diaphragms are moving. Repeating up and down motion through our entire lives.

I raise my pointing finger up and start drawing fruits of imagination on your dirty white ceiling. Little creatures and whatnot.

Carving them in really carefully…

I bet you’ll never notice them and yet they’ll stay here forever. Watching after you… For me.

Oh… My hand just gives up and starts falling – it can no longer fight this chaotic dense mixture in the air. At the exact moment when my hand comes into collision with the bed, you start waking up.

Still, it takes a forever later, for you to open your eyes. But once you do, the room starts slowly getting filled with your presence. Pushing the dust, space and time out through the tiny crack in the window, which is just in front of my bare, cold feet.

I stare into your eyes.

You stare into mine.

I close my eyes while you touch my hair.

Let me soak into you…

I don’t talk much. You don’t too.

You see? You’re so close.

And each day you get one step closer. To a tiny piece of armour.

Isn’t there a tiny shield between our hearts? Protecting us from the instability and the overbearingness of raw emotions.

We are tiptoeing a lot around each other. This fragile dialogue between our hearts and souls is still indefinably charming.


Alarm disrupts us. I am hesitating but finally, I get out of the bed, leaving you behind, wrapped up in a thick blanket. Before closing the doors, I smile at the creatures above your head, and later at you. But here you are just laying there, facing the wall again. Occupied with chasing the ghosts and formless illusions.

If only you knew the things that happen when I’m with you, without you.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Kay Gasei says:

    Nice! Structure of sentences made it feel like a crescendo of emotional gravity, with the weight of the words intensifying and then little openings of air or relief and the end of paragraph, but not resetting the heaviness upon the next paragraph.

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