Everynight a I close the blinds in my room and pull back the heavy quilt that covers my bed, a fly buzzes around my face. Every night, my first instict is to swat away the ennoying creature. Tonight as I pulled back my blanket, the fly landed oon my headboard and starred back me. The irritation of this sole infestation had been in my precence longer than I can remember, but tonight, the buzzing of its wings was systematic to that of the wheels within my head.
This disgusting creature does not belong in my white, clean room. But the more I thought about it, nor do I. The fly that inhibits my sleep is much like myself. Trapped. Trapped in a world that is now so familiar it seems to be home, yet so far from. I've resided to this place so long I've grown accoustomed, yet, every morning, with the sun blinding my sleepy eye, I wake up miserable and still in the same place.
Being in a world as big as it is, one would assume happiness should be found. I've yet to look. Like the fly looking out my window to the massive world in an untouchable reach, I long to escape. I long to be my own person. I want ot go to sleep each night worrying about my own problems. I need to wake up with a purpose. Like the fly, I'm stuck to wander the same place over and over until night falls, where I lay in my safe bed, and wake up only to wonder what blank things I will do for the twelve hours I must be awake.
Everyday this misguided fly looks with sadness out my double thick glass window to see insects like he in the big...