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A Mind That Won’t Go Quiet
Learning to live with the thoughts that arrive when everything else is still
There is a strange hour at night when the whole world seems to have lowered its voice, but mine somehow gets louder. The lights are off, the phone is finally somewhere out of reach, and there is nothing left that needs to be done. That should be the easiest moment to rest. Instead, my head starts opening old conversations, unfinished questions, tiny mistakes, and imaginary versions of tomorrow as if it has been waiting all day for this exact silence.
At times, it begins with something so small that I almost laugh at myself. Why did I say that? Did they misunderstand me? Should I have answered differently? What if tomorrow doesn't go the way I imagined? None of these questions are urgent, yet somehow they arrive with the seriousness of an emergency. I lie there trying to convince myself that tomorrow can take care of tomorrow, while my brain insists on preparing for every possible version of it tonight.
Some thoughts don’t need answers. They only need permission to pass.
I used to think thinking a lot meant I was being careful. If I replayed a conversation, perhaps I would understand what really happened. If I considered every possibility before making a…
