We're on the ceiling

There's this moment between 8 o'clock and 10 o'clock when we're turning on 70's game shows.
And cross my heart, we're floating in mid air.
Laughing because the prizes they give away on Let's Make a Deal are ridiculous.
And now we're on the ceiling.
Playing a frustrating game of hide and seek with gravity.
We could have fallen asleep there.

But instead we came up with solutions for everything.
Well almost everything.
And we let gravity find our fears and our heart aches and everything it wanted to pull us down with.
We let gravity pull them apart from us.

And no matter the deal you want to make, Monty Hall can't exchange death for a brand new car.
So when they cut him open trying to find what killed him,
they'll see everyone else's name engraved on his heart.
Because that's the kind of guy he was.
They'll see the faces of his children taped to his lungs and the song at his wedding playing around the nerves of his body over and over.

When they open him up, and look at the beauty that made him they'll grab their phones to notify the News.
They'll run to their families, their churches, their God, screaming "THANK YOU"
They'll be selling this information for thousand, maybe millions.


And the channels will have BREAKING NEWS interrupting your New Girl episode.
There'll be News anchors flustered, trying to tell you what's happening but listening to their ear at the same time.
Tacos will be visual and they will be large.
They'll be talking a mile a minute about some man from a place you don't know apparently shocked the nation.
And what they found inside him you wont want to miss, after these commercials.

.................................

But you wont ever hear what they found, you wont get to see those tacos again.
Because you're floating on your ceiling.
Laughing your head off with your dad about something more important.