I wonder if these walls get tired of my presence, as much as me being tired of staring at the familiar color of beige. Enclosing the fresh breath of air that flows within my lungs and embracing warmth against my face from the sun. The sounds of solitude begin to feel repetitive; slowly does still movements and melancholy ticking sound break the silence all together. I stare at each wall individually—all the bumps and defined color stare back, turning me into insanity that not even a bit of happiness isn’t enough to feel overwhelmed. 

Constantly thinking isn’t good for me, but when time is free, all the thoughts start to pull together and fill that empty space of freedom. At least tonight all that time will be replaced by inducing myself into the soft cushion of striped pillow cases and imaginary dreams; i’m fine with that.