The one thing that’s always been there for me in my room isn’t my bed or my books or even my phone it’s my ceiling. The ceiling has seen every version of me. It’s been there when I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe and it’s been there when I cried so quietly that even the walls couldn’t hear. The ceiling never says “I love you” but it never leaves either. It just stays. Silent. There’s something so comforting about that kind of presence that doesn’t try to fix you doesn’t try to explain life away doesn’t even judge. It just is. And in its stillness it reminds me that sometimes love doesn’t need to be loud. Sometimes love is simply never leaving. People come and go promises fade even memories blur. But every night when I lie down I look up and there it is unchanged holding me together in ways no one else even notices. It doesn’t get tired of me doesn’t get bored of my silence. It’s always there a witness to every version of my loneliness and every fragment of my hope. Sometimes I think if another universe exists I hope I can be a ceiling there. Maybe that’s the purest kind of existence to stand silent to never leave to simply be someone’s constant when everything else is temporary.