I don't ever remember reflecting so deeply as a child. The carefree and fleeting thoughts seem so desirable now, but the grown mind can't find its way back down the convoluted path to that pretty candy cane home. The mind was a safe and clear place back then; but now having realised its infinite capacity, it gives the owner a sense of travelling down a black vortex for every thought that seeps in from the outside. Its spaces are both lonely and scary to venture into, yet ironically, equally gravitating. Sometimes it feels like there's a fuse that could blow off without a red sign. So I try sleeping it off, because when I wake my thoughts are either empty or busy calculating dreams.
