Ceiling Talk

i promised him i’d never take a drink but i’m finding myself tempted. everyday is the same now same ceiling, same coffee stain same spot on the kitchen floor. it’s raining while the sun still shines and i’m swimming in the mud that gathers underneath the little tree growing in my yard, it’s becoming harder to breathe without someone here to give me a reason to want to, someone to kickstart my heart, to get it beating for something other than the pictures on this screen. i want to make a salted margarita on the rocks, and throw it at the wall because it wouldn’t taste good if i tried to drink it, i’d rather taste you and snowflakes and a cup of cranberry cocktail, all things that make me happy and all things i wouldn’t ever choose first. i’m not quite sure what this says about me, maybe i’m not too good at making up my mind or remembering to breathe or smiling at the things that i used to, but i have this ceiling and this coffee stain, this spot on the kitchen floor, all things that will always be there and all things that were always there before.