There’s a piece of glass stuck in the ceiling of this big, cold and empty room. I just realize of its existence. I just realize it is hanging there. I just catch myself staring at it, wondering why, how and who…
Why is it up there?
How it ended stuck?
Who is responsible?
When the sun gets through the windows, it shines and shines. When the lights go out, you can’t even tell it’s there, hanging. Hiding.
I like to look at it. I like to stare. I like to think of it as a very peculiar character, stuck in this life, having no power at all about its fate. Just there waiting for something to happen.
Just like me.
Just like you.
Just like a lot of people waiting to break free from the imprisonment of their minds. From their hiding place.
Waiting to fall to the ground and maybe end up where they belong, where they won’t be just a piece anymore. Waiting to let go of the past and leap over to a new safe space, a new crack, a new spot in the ceiling of their lives.