Sleepless

It’s sort of funny how my bedroom ceiling looks the same every night. Whether I’m devastated about the loss of my grandmother or confused about what just happened between Sam and Starla, when I’m laying on my back, staring up at the ceiling, it looks exactly the same as it does on nights when I hardly notice it at all. You’d think there’d be some sort of a change--a darkening of the white paint or a show of some sort cast by shadows of despair. But… no. It’s the same now as it always is, even though I’ve been lying awake staring at it for hours. Eventually, it will change when the sun starts to come up and slides between the edge of cur