Overthinking: dissecting that which exists in the mind.
Pulling thoughts this way and that way and this way and that way so that every which way and aspect and possibility is prodded and probed, weighed, quantified, qualified and picked apart like vultures picking at carrion.
Thoughts are torn to pieces this way! They should be left to flow and shift; to evolve organically. Thoughts must simply shimmer and be.
When I overthink and refuse to let things be, I specify and specify and reduce a thing down until there is nothing real or concrete left; I am left to deal with echoes, reflections and traces of faint half-memories.
Echoes can be misheard; echoes sound like this and that and something else. I am distracted by echoes, I strive to remember the original sound. I am eventually sucked in by my need to hear what was once actually there.
Reflections are not actual either.
When I over-think I break a thought down too far; I reduce it to a form which isn’t tangible, and then I am drawn in by that mystery.
The mystery of the unknown.
I become distracted by my own impression of my own face in a mirror; an impression which somehow isn’t quite my own; fixating because it’s so strangely elusive.
But I continue to think: this thinking process seems to offer answers, but all it does it pulls me further in, pulls me deeper down.
My mind can be like a labyrinth. When I overthink things into such states of dissolution, I get lost in that uncertainty, I get caught up in that shadow.
I think too far, I dissect too far– until I am only chasing the impression of thoughts, and the dream of a final resolution.