I met you at the inside of a crowded room...

we shuffled our feet and sat there awkwardly. I was at the point of suggesting a faint topic up for possible discussion, but you said you had to go and you walked away from where I sat. The rest of the night was possibly hopeless. All I could remember afterward were a couple of dangling lights and the ceiling fan. That prominent ceiling fan with all its omnipotence staring down at the room. It probably thought to itself "Damn those people. Those people who know nothing. Those people who know they know nothing and care not for what they lack. The power they could hold within their grubby fingers, yet they sustain a nonchalant airiness." Then someone's grubby index finger turns it on, refraining it from further commentaries. I sigh, deeply aware of the smoke that dangled heavily from the posts of people scattered about. I breathe in all their fumes, I suffocate in it, and I fall deeper still.