Then I thought about things for a while. It was warm; pleasant at home. I think I had realised something, but now that I think about it I have forgotten. What was that, or rather more accurately, why was that? I pondered for a moment. Nevermind, but the atmosphere had changed. I wonder what else has changed.
As the lighting changed my thought did as well. I had revisited the past. Thoughts that I thought were lost were instead fragmented, buried in emotions that had been locked away in a depressed mind. Now bits and pieces were back, though still not decernable. Not legible to the outsider. Not yet.
Maybe it's time; maybe it isn't. Are these words suppose to make sense? Or are they just a stream of consciousness from a mind that has been on the brink of madness. I don't think we'll ever be able to know. But knowing was never really the point. I think. I know I think. I think I know I think. I know I think that I know that I think...
Why always comes back to me. Then again, when are the questions never about themselves, or did I just lose sense in that sentence. I think. Or maybe I know. The mind wanders. Thinking and knowing. It's warm. The warmth soothes. Maybe it was never about thinking and knowing, rather just trying to find the calm in the storm.