I am a thinker. I think. Faster than I can speak, ideas race through my mind. I flit here and there, from topic to topic, not stopping, nor slowing. Racing past me, I only glimpse the slightest before I'm off again.
Living a life in my head, the clouds being mere wisps, I am left in the garden, but distracted from the roses. The flowers become simple, colored blurs in my mind. My memory made to worth nothing. Too many thoughts that I cannot keep track of. No re-tellings. The thought is of the moment.
For it is a chore. Staying in the moment is a bother. Always moving forward. Not by choice, but because I cannot look back.
And I want to look back. I want to remember. I want to stop along the stone path and smell the bright and inviting flowers. I want to take a moment and feel pain as the thorns prick my finger. I want to be conscious of thought. Slow, savoring. The brilliant glow of the moment, of the memory.
But I can't. I can't slow down. I can't keep up. Full speed ahead. Stopping's dangerous. Stopping's bad. It will throw your train from the track. It'll mess up your plans, mess everything up. It will ruin you. It will ruin what you have, what you know.
It'll change things. Changing will change things. It will force you to adapt. But I am not mold-able. And I don't want to stop. And I don't want to slow. But I want to see the petals. And I want to remember life.
I am a thinker. I think. Because that's the only thing I can do.
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