If the ceiling were a person, it’d have reported me by now for stalking. All I ever do at night while laying on my bed is stare at it. It has nothing to offer me but white paint and a few dust bunnies, but still, night after night without fail my eyes can’t stop looking at it.

I do my best not to move from my position. Instead, I listen to all the sounds around me. I listen to the wind shushing me. Shhh, it goes, even if I have not said a word. I listen to the clock beside me, counting every second with a tik and a tok. I listen to my air conditioning, probably the loudest of them all. It almost sounds like the noise you hear when a car drives through a rocky road, except quieter.

By now, a dozen thoughts have already entered my mind. None of them are fighting for my attention – it’s more like I’m a ball, and my thoughts are throwing me to each other. None of them ever have to do with today – most of them are about tomorrow: where I am going to go, who I am going to meet and what I am going to do.

I don’t know how I fall asleep. I just do. The alarm clock wakes me up and suddenly it’s morning, and the night is gone. And when the day is through another night arrives, and I get to do the whole thing all over again.


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