The ceiling fan keeps spinning.
If I were to die, if heaven were to fall, the blades would continue to pass as though it were nothing at all.
Cut through the wind, the worries, the ache of time.
Every fight in that room ended with my head on the ground and my eyes on the fan.
The chills of the aftermath left me shaking mercilessly.
My world is spinning. Someone slow me down.
A pungent gasp left my lips, and I closed my eyes.
Perhaps someday gravity will bring it to a halt, and I will stand on the brink of time and space, wishing for more.
As She Writes 