Behelit

Sanity is a fragile thing. A little egg with a frail shell in the eye of a storm made by all feelings that we go through, and as soon as it gets thrown around it will break and shatter to never again be restored.

The only way to keep it intact is to protect it, to reign in the typhoon, and store it in little boxes. Each thought has it's box, ones as little as grains of sand, other so big that they block the horizon. Some fit perfectly and just lay there, waiting to be used while others are violent, always trying to get out.

Those are the most troublesome, all the things that I don't want to feel, but what I want is irrelevant and they break free from time to time. It's never easy to control them again.

Those are the ones under lock and key, and normally the key gets thrown out, with the hopes that this lock will remain closed forever, that whatever is locked inside will just wither and die with time. Unfortunately, they rarely do.

But this is something that I need. In order to proceed forward, I need this stillness, those boxes stacked on top of each other, creating a fortress around me. But this fortress is always falling, boxes are always breaking apart toppling down the rest of the walls alongside them, releasing other thoughts that should have never been released.

This is my life, going forward when I am on this calmness and in control and stoping dead on my tracks when my soul is taken hostage of all the things that I should had bypassed ages ago.

But as long as that little, fragile egg remains safe I will be able to proceed. For one day that little egg will hatch and feast upon all those damn boxes.