30 Days

It's twilight.
The sky looks as though its on fire, and I can't help but stare.
Although, the room was a complete contrast to the outside world,
the air was moist and hardly any shapes were detectable in the dark.
The only light came streaming in through the open windows.

Stacey's soft snoring could be heard from behind her bedroom door, which was open a crack.
And I lay on the couch, quiet and thoughtful.
My back on the cushion, and my face towards the ceiling, I squinted,
trying to make out the chips in the paint and plaster.

I wonder what she's doing now..
One piece of plaster hung from the ceiling, only held up by a few small connections. It was right above me, hanging quietly above the world. It almost blended in with the others, except this one seemed desperate to find new things.

Is she happy?
The little piece swung the air, and it seemed to hang lower.
Wanting both to go with the air, to where ever it takes it, to find new worlds. Yet, the strings that were holding it together, tugged it back.
And now, for a few moments, the wind stopped, and he held back on.
One chance given up.

Is she with.. him?
A vulnerable feeling tingled through me.
I sat up straight.

Does she regret ever meeting me?
The small pieces of string holding the piece up were now more visible. Three small strands of plaster were sticking to it, large enough to hold it to the ceiling, yet thin enough to flow with the wind.

One, of course, was smallest. In both length and size, I almost stuck to the ceiling. It seemed to be longer before, but nevertheless, it was short. Once a support system, now a nuisance holding it back. The unwanted, yet oh-so needed help that family gives you. Yet, you find yourself refusing.

Another one was medium sized. It was rather thin, yet long. It made the chip's angle rather lopsided. One side attached, one a few centimeters farther down. It was almost like they were encouraging the chip to fly away. As if they wanted to say, we're right behind you, achieve your dreams, we'll be here when you get back. Long enough to let the drop be soft, long enough to reach back up and be back with your friends. It was spineless, unhelpful in the worst ways.

The third, the largest of all. It seemed to be the thinnest, yet wide. It wanted to hold on, yet it wanted to let go. It was almost exactly like the second one. Yet, the chip liked this one the most. The chip held it right in the middle. Wanting to bring it along, to explore the world together, to stay together forever. But, the strand belonged there. It had to stay no matter how much it wanted to go.

I smirked at the though,
they were in love.

It soon disappeared, and a sinking feeling began in the pit of my stomach.

The wind started to pick up, it was rougher now.
The chip swung violently, back and forth, back and forth.

One by one the strands let go.
The second went first, snapping right in two, almost willingly. It curled up at the bottom, and that ended up breaking off, too.
So much for re-connecting.
The smallest one fell off right after. It tugged for a moment, and fell right off.

The middle one was all that was left, the little trooper it is.
The chip was all but ready to go and live. The large strand, as determined as it was, was losing. Everyone was so willing to watch it fly. Was she ready too?

Then, a slight cracking was heard. So soft, like the popping of that cereal. The chip was free, taking with it a tiny circular chunk of the wide piece. A memento of their time together.

Although, unlike the other connections, the wide piece didn't let go and shrivel. It seemed to go through rigor mortis, turning straight and tough, unmovable. It waited patiently, and sometimes it slipped. Sometimes it wavered, but it maintained it toughness. Ever straight and tough, no longer clinging to the chip.

The chip that floated to the floor next to the couch, and sat there.
The chip that realized it shouldn't have left.
The chip that didn't move, couldn't move, for the rest of the night.

I closed my eyes at the irony.
My life was just played out in chipping ceiling paint.
I turned over on the couch so that my back was facing the now dark city streets. My face was up against the bright yellow back cushions.

I sunk deeper into the blankets and let out a sigh, another question popping into my head.
Was love even worth it?
And this time I answered aloud,

"It has to be."