My thought are always on. Always moving.
Sometimes racing. Sometimes ambling. But always moving.
They wander off into the past, taking left and right turns, one after the other. They stray down dark corridors. They open doors they shouldn’t. Doors that say ‘Do not disturb!’ They find secret rooms and hidden tunnels. They go deeper and deeper. And deeper.
They sprint into future meadows. Into worlds not yet realized. They imagine. They paint pictures of envisaged realities. They presume. They plan and they plot. They explore potential paths. They pick every flower and they examine.
They wander and they wonder. They are always asking why. Hush, I say, not now! They store their questions, but they do not forget.
I try to call them back, to stop their roaming. I call them next to me. Rest, I say.
Sometimes they stay. Sometimes they play close by. Sometimes they sit quietly. But only for a moment. I blink and they are gone. Into golden fields of time yet to come. Or dusty rooms. Into places that the sun does not go. Into hazy horizons.
My thoughts are beautifully restless. Incorrigible. Wild.
They will not be tamed. Pacified, yes. But not tamed.