And just like that, the thoughts begin again.
I have stopped trying to stop it. In the first six months this year has given me, I have decided to instead embrace the chaotic mind-stream. To swim within that which makes me emotions change their wavelengths so frequently.
Nevertheless, in this mind-space of white noise, there lies a more joyful tone in the air. The thoughts are not as dark, and neither are the solutions as grim as before. The memories are lighter, the heart is warmer and most of all, the switch that deals with whether or not I choose to care about situations is being utilised to its maximum efficiency and I believe that is great.
I hope.
But even with all that, the melancholy tune wisping it’s way through my thoughts don’t stop. They only get louder. And as it peaks at a mad crescendo, my hands cradle head; one wiping the specks of mental fatigue from my face while the other runs it’s fingers through the uncombed mesh of hair strands on my head. And in the midst of the whole process, one sentence drops into my thoughts…
“Life is actually great, but…”
And I feel my body release an accidental sigh almost on reflex.
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