the ceiling fan above me has three blades, each convinced it’s the most important one. i admire that confidence. when i sit beneath it, i try to pick a favorite, but they all blur into one determined circle — a democracy in motion.

i like to think the fan watches over me. when i look up, it looks down, spinning its thoughts so fast i can’t catch them. maybe that’s for the best. i already have too many thoughts walking around without supervision.

sometimes, when the room goes quiet, i hear the faint whisper of its rotation. it sounds like it’s reminding the house that yes, i still exist. here. below. trying to stay cool in every sense possible.

one day, the fan will stop. maybe from age, maybe from dust, maybe from simply deciding it has spun enough for one lifetime.

i will be the only one who notices.

and now you will too.