I would consider myself introspective. There is never a moment of silence in my head. I find it incredibly hard to completely express myself, verbally, because of the multitude of strings of thoughts flowing through my head at any given moment.
I imagine my brain, specifically the area that thoughts live, a bit as a river-leaden mountain. There is a main waterfall and river path, that's where the foremost thoughts are, and it flows voraciously. At the base of the waterfall lies a pool, this is where some thoughts get stuck and they spin, and roll, until they are reeled out. Some thoughts flow by too quicky to get stuck, they join the rest of the water flowing around and back through the mountain, until they eventually get stuck and are pulled out.
There are branches off the main river that feed into streams, ponds, and lakes. These are the thoughts that cycle but do not take up as much of the river, they will be fished out eventually.
To catch these thoughts, to verbalize them, is much like fishing. You try but you don't always succeed. This means you have to wait, to bait it, to consider it, until it comes back around.
Sometimes, the genre of thoughts creates its own pool. Depending on the type of thoughts, the landscape surrounding it changes some. Thoughts used to calm myself are kept in a pond within a meadow. The wind softly blows, the plants grow tall, but not hugely so. There's meadowlarks singing, frogs humming and crickets chirping.
Anxiety has a lake of its own, the trees are dark and hang imposingly over the water. Its dusk here, there's light but not enough to see properly. Its isolated, there's not much noise. The wind still blows but its not gentle, it rattles leaves at random moments, shaking the spine.
I suppose, the river traces the paths to the ponds and lakes. It is the road to the pieces of me.
I believe there is a ferryman, or boat, that helps me to cross the waters of my own self.
I hold entire biomes in my head. I tie my feelings and thoughts to an entire ecosystem.

















