Sometimes the head gets too full.

Endless thoughts shaping words, ideas piling into heaping mounds of overflowing debris. It can be a never-ending ping pong game of lists and reminders, questions and answers, always doing…doing something.

The mind is important, powerful, necessary. But oh, the brilliance of pausing the constancy of my brain.

Sometimes it just takes a pen. Slowing down to let ink seep into textured paper, not knowing where I’m going. On the blank sheet, it matters not. This is for no one but myself. There is no purpose whatsoever, except that it feels good to gaze upon colors, filling lines that lead me to an unknown place where there never is a wrong. No time.