Ceiling Fan Poem by Quinn Ferry

I looked up at the ceiling fan entranced like a man watching the world unwind before him.
She rolled over and stared at me and said something that I couldn't immediately hear because my mind had left my body for a while.
The voice was small and brushed my ear like the air did above me, so I took a second to savor the question that hung in the air like smoke.
I breathed it in.
I breathed it out.
It was a moment where any sense of time was obstructed by the lack of unnecessary thoughts or trivial sounds.
And the moment you realize what kind of moment it is, it rushes away from you.
But I held onto it for as long as I could.