The Gray Ceiling

Each day I wake up to the gray ceiling staring downat me. Though I find comfort in the assurance that each day, without fail, I know the ceiling will be there to greet me; I long for a more colorful start. However, I have found solace in the books I am allowed in my solitude. They bring color to my life –my dreams. Through these works of fiction, I can escape the confines of my own making. I amfree in far off lands and mystical places; I am everyone at once while being no one at all. I explore, learn, feel, and even love. As my fingers graze the pages; I feel the breeze through my hair, the sun on my skin, and the life I yearn for. Through these pages, these distant and almost foreign memories are reignited and bring back to me the life I once knew.However, as these chapters of both books and life aclosed, they are soon forgotten as they fade away into the depths of my memory; only to leave a lasting impression resembling a summary. I feel their whispers and stories slip through my fingers despite my protests and desperate, pleading grasp. Though the words may be fleeting, they are the only thing left that ground me to my humanity. They remind me that there is more to life besides the gray ceiling staring down at me.