“At the root of all life is love. There is nothing greater, except, perhaps, the loss of it.”
Girl on the Ceiling is a haunting descent into the quiet violence of heartbreak. This is not soft sadness, this is lyrical ruin. Raw, cinematic, and aching in every line, Rome Richards writes like someone pulling ghosts from her own ribs and laying them bare on the page.
This book doesn’t follow a path, it spirals. It is dark. Brutal. Overwhelming. And still, it soothes, not with answers, but with the comfort of knowing you’re not alone in your heartache. This is the story of a girl buried by love, dragged under by her own mind, and refusing to stay in the ground. She doesn’t rise with grace. She claws her way back with grit, with dirt in her teeth, bite marks in her memories, and poems splintered through every bone.
Girl on the Ceiling is not a book you simply read, it’s a book that reads you back. And it will leave you aching in all the places you forgot you buried.
“At the root of all life is love. There is nothing greater, except, perhaps, the loss of it.”
Girl on the Ceiling is a haunting descent into the quiet violence of heartbreak. This is not soft sadness, this is lyrical ruin. Raw, cinematic, and aching in every line, Rome Richards writes like someone pulling ghosts from her own ribs and laying them bare on the page.
This book doesn’t follow a path, it spirals. It is dark. Brutal. Overwhelming. And still, it soothes, not with answers, but with the comfort of knowing you’re not alone in your heartache. This is the story of a girl buried by love, dragged under by her own mind, and refusing to stay in the ground. She doesn’t rise with grace. She claws her way back with grit, with dirt in her teeth, bite marks in her memories, and poems splintered through every bone.
Girl on the Ceiling is not a book you simply read, it’s a book that reads you back. And it will leave you aching in all the places you forgot you buried.
