Brain

Pocket Knife Nonsense

Excessive thinking has ruined me.
I walk the hallways like something is chasing me. Always looking at my surroundings and behind my back.
I hold my knife inside my pocket and my hands sweat when there is too many people around. Or when there is none.
I walk behind my group of friends when we go out at night. I'd rather have the bad guy jump me instead of them. At least I have a weapon.
I care too much.

"You give too much, too fast", someone said to me once.
I am starting to think that I am not the problem. Maybe I don't need more wickedness in me. Maybe other people need more kindness.

I carry my knife everywhere. Because not everybody is kind.
Sometimes I hold my knife in my right hand when I'm safe in my room.
As a metaphor. It can save my life but it can surely kill me too.
Unless I can control it.
Somehow like my brain.

"You can't love someone that quick".
Oh, but I can. Every time I see those eyes I know there is a lot of joy, pain, grudges, love, and God knows what else, hidden away in that person's head.
It's a work of art, a whole novel that has not finished yet, all saved by a couple of pounds of fat and water inside their skulls.
How can I not love art?

I always carry my pocket knife.
Because the world is a dangerous place.
But mostly because I want to make sure that everybody I love has a line of defense if something bad happens.
Even if that line of defense is me.

Maybe overthinking hasn't ruined me.
Maybe it has made me a better person.
It gave me a code of honor I didn't have before. A loyalty most people lack.
Maybe my overthinking and me have a love-hate relationship. Like a metaphor.
Just like my knife and I.
So full of hatred and love at the same time.
So, just like I always carry my excessive thinking, I always carry my pocket knife.