There hole in my ceiling. I don’t know how it got there. I don’t know how it got there, when it got there or who put there. And it drives me nuts. Because I just want to know. I want to know about that hole, I want to know the story behind it. Who knows, maybe the story will be the best one I’ve ever heard? Maybe, it’ll be about pirates and zombies and invasion from space. Or maybe it’ll be as simple as someone accidentally throwing a ball too hard at the roof one time. Who knows? But until I find out the story, it’s always going to bug be. Always going to get on my nerves. Because there is nothing I like more than a good story.

Perhaps it happened when a girlfriend and boyfriend where lying down in the room, talking, smiling. And then the boyfriend stopped smiling and sighed. He might have turned to his girlfriend and said the hardest words anyone ever has to hear, “I think we should break up”. And then, maybe, the girl – because that’s all she is now, a girl –got angry. Maybe she started throwing things and screaming and asking why. And then, maybe, the guy ran. But, before he could go, the girl through something at his head. He ducked, but it sawed over it and it the roof, creating the hole.

Or maybe it happened when the boy proposed to the girl, and she said yes, throwing her arms in the air. And maybe when she did that, something flew out of her hand and hit the roof and made a hole.

Or maybe I’m just a romantic.