Trapped beneath the austere vaults of the ceiling stars, we ponder their misplaced majesty. Here, in caverns defined by drywall and ceiling tile, the stars twinkle with a pathetic irony. How strange that the smallest victories are oft accompanied by the deepest flaws.
Wandering through mazes without ends, we find ourselves continually lost, yet somehow it feels more like home. Each twist a reminder that complexity breeds comfort, and that the final destination is the journey's uselessness.
In the caverns where stars reside overhead, their presence unearned, we realize that the ultimate ceiling is but a floor. Indeed, the pathway forged in iron wrestles with the idea of progression. To walk or not to walk, that is the real question, one that may yield only blank stares and existential mumbles.