The Ceiling of My House

 Lost in my day, between work and thoughts that overwhelm my mind, even if asked what I am doing, I do not know. My mind tires me.

The ceiling of my house mirrors me completely at night. I stare at it without speaking, and it does not speak to me either. We agree on one thing: silence, nothing more. I think—could it be thinking like me? I cannot imagine it. Does it truly listen to me? Perhaps it watches me.

My ceiling has become my beloved. I merely look at it. Then I continue to gaze until my eyes relax, and sleep aids me. I cannot imagine that I am sleeping… perhaps I am moving into my own world. I make friends there as I please, and I traverse it however I want. Even my beloved, I imagine her as I wish.

In my world, I am the king… then the blackness of night vanishes, and I open my eyes to my ceiling. I see it frowning in its place, choosing silence between it and me, a blinding whiteness. Perhaps it befriends my solitude, and I do not even know.

On my ceiling, I notice a spider web, beautiful in its decoration. I know it considers me its companion in the room, for the ceiling itself holds us, assures our freedom, life, and its chill.

The spider weaves to hunt. Beautiful is the way it works on its prey, with precision and craftsmanship, feeding on its future while forgetting its past. Evil in the mosquito’s eyes, yet beautiful in its own. The ceiling witnesses my silence and the spider’s silence. We all work without words—or perhaps we have forgotten our identity and how to speak. We do not master the art of language; rather, silence is our flame.

But after our friendship, I no longer found that spider. It betrayed our agreement to work in silence and not abandon one another. In a moment, I saw my ceiling’s whiteness detach and fade. Ah, the spider no longer brings me joy, and the ceiling no longer stays silent. Each moment, something of its whiteness falls upon me, disturbing me. Perhaps??? It is a sign that it wants to reveal its feelings—or perhaps it has grown tired of silence…

But I, my companion, am accustomed to silence, so I ask your

 forgiveness…