Walls & Ceilings
Within the walls of my old apartment I made memories and mistakes—love, lies, confessions, complaints. Beneath its ceiling, I slept through storms—resented the creaking footsteps of my neighbors. Through its windows, I watched the seasons change. On its floors, dust stirred and settled. Through its doors passed friends and family—laundry, clean and dirty—possessions, accumulated and discarded. One morning, lying in bed, I peered through my open door. In the hallway, morning sun drifted across an intersection of beige drywall.
