I wish the World was upside down, it would give me a whole new perspective. The ceiling would no longer be a ceiling and the floor no longer a floor. I’d like that to happen; I’m tired of staring at the ceiling. I know every nook, every cranny, every little imperfection that has been worn into the cold wall. It’s a very blank ceiling, but I guess that’s why it brings me into deep thought, but at the same time maybe that’s why it needs to change. I think I overthink things, but if I didn’t I’d run out of things to think about.
Every thought I have always weaves itself back to the start. How did I let that happen to me? I used to understand the point of life, heck I used to have one. I used to write my own life story; I used to create the tales I now have to tell. But that’s all it is now, tales to tell. I stopped writing them long ago. I could go on and tell myself of all the happy memories I hold, everything I experienced. People used to be jealous. That fact now amuses me. I have become people, the people that used to envy me, the old me.
‘People’ is a funny word isn’t it? Pee-op-le. Silent ‘e’ at the end, yet without it the word would be unpronounceable, well almost ‘peopl’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it, it just seems incomplete. It has a silent ‘o’ too. Say if that ‘o’ was to be taken out and replaced, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. ‘Peeple’, still a finished word. I like that ‘o’ it’s like me, it is, no one would notice if I was replaced, not anymore any way, some would even be happy. That is if I still cross their minds from time to time.
I had enemies, I had fans, I had a love. She was my one true love, too bad I wasn’t hers. We had everything together. You would never see me away from her. Her auburn hair flowed and glistened in the sunlight, a scent of floral fantasy trailed behind as the grass tickled her perfectly sculpted ankles. She would twirl and her eyes would light up, her hazel eyes; her gorgeous hazel eyes. I miss the way she used to look at me. I miss waking up to an angel. I miss the simplest things that I always took for granted. What an idiot.
Drip, dri-drip, dri-drip, drip, drop. I had a leak in the left hand corner of the room. This string of drips and drops repeated four times every five minutes with various drip and drops in between, but this sequence always occurred, without fail it always came back. This pattern made me smile every time it returned, I could rely on it to come back time and time again, something I could never do before. Everything in life leaves, nothing stays. Food is eaten, money is spent, and clothes grow too old or too small. Even life itself ends, we all have to die.
She left me too. I don’t even know what happened, it still feels like a dream. I don’t know why or how she did it but she did. I have her letter under my pillow. I’ve never heard her be so cold before. It’s like it wasn’t even her thoughts, but it was definitely her handwriting. She never dotted her i’s or her j’s, but she always double crossed her t’s. I never knew why, I think it was some sort of good luck superstition, but it added to the list of things I loved about her. The paper still smelt of her, a gently sweet fragrance that tickled its way past your nose and stuck to your mind. At least that’s what I believed happened as I can’t get her off of mine. Maybe that’s what I should do, maybe I’ll stick the letter to the ceiling. You know, a cold wall decorated by an even colder letter.
I stuck it right on top of where my head lay, every day, every night. There’s a permanent dip in the mattress where my living corpse lays. My body pretty much laid straight, legs slightly apart. My right arm up and out, my left over and across my body as if to hold someone. As if to cradle them. I never thought of it that way before, ironic isn’t it? I didn’t just place the Blutac in each corner, I neatly covered the whole back of the paper with the blue stuff, to cushion it. You know that’s an idea, I could mask this ceiling with blutac, it fills any cracks, and I could mould it to whatever I want. To give me another texture of the wall to explore and scrutinize. Is it sad, that that’s a possibility to me? Who knows? I could change rooms, but that’s the last thing I want to do.
