The Ceiling

This morning
I notice the ceiling again.

Not the one above me.
The one my mind builds when everything unfinished begins leaning into the same small room.

Emails. Timing. Conversations.
The version of myself I keep postponing until life finally feels manageable.

Overwhelm doesn’t announce itself.

It quietly removes the horizon.

I used to believe relief would arrive through order.
Everything answered.
Everything resolved.

But life has never waited to become simple.

It arrives whole.

The ordinary sits beside the beautiful.
The unbearable asks for a place at the table.

So today I won’t argue with what is here.

The mind reaches for certainty.

The body knows something older.

Stay.

Let joy come.
Let grief come.
Let neither mistake itself for permanence.

Perhaps peace isn’t the absence of weight.

Perhaps it’s the moment I stop carrying what was only ever meant to move through me.

And maybe the ceiling was never the end of the sky.

Only the place where I forgot to look beyond.