I’m learning to be patient with myself. Not every thought needs to stay. And the ones that matter usually find their way back.

Some thoughts pass through my mind so quickly they barely stop long enough to say hello. They show up like unexpected guests, make a little noise, then slip out the back door before I understand why they came in the first place.

I try to hold onto them. I really do. Sometimes I even chase them, hoping I can grab one long enough to figure out what it means. But most of the time, they scatter the second I pay attention, like they were never meant to stay.

It’s strange how much energy it takes to keep up with something so weightless. A thought can spark hope for a moment, push me toward an idea, or remind me of something I should’ve done. And then, just as I start to follow it, it fades. I’m left with a half-formed sentence in my mind and a quiet sense of frustration, wondering if I lost something important.

The real struggle isn’t the thoughts themselves. It’s the space they leave behind. That empty moment where I ask myself why I can’t hold onto anything long enough to make sense of it. It makes me feel scattered, like my mind is a room full of open windows and everything I try to keep blows away before I can close even one.

But every now and then, one thought slows down. It lingers. It gives me just enough time to understand it before it moves on. Those are the ones that remind me I’m not broken. My mind is just loud and fast and unpredictable, and sometimes that means things slip away.