I lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling tiles that seem to float above me. First at each individually, and then back as a whole. Noticing every dot and curve in the cheap design used in this college dorm. But as cheap as it appears, I can still find some uniqueness in each.

My eyes signal out some pieces of one section, crafting each small fragment into a picture. I let my imagination work, seeing ancient civilizations at war, groups of Christmas trees, and machinery transforming into wildlife before my eyes.

The gears turn into vines that breathe life into the sky and for a moment I can sense a feeling of tranquility spread through my body. In my head I feel alive. But even the bed that grasps me from beneath is questionable in my reality.

But in the darkness as I try to fall asleep as the only living thing is this room I feel a sense of dread. A pressing sense creeps upon me, a sense that tells me that these pictures on the ceiling won’t always stay here. I fear that in the morning, after an hour of sleep. I won’t remember this.

I fear I won’t remember me.