Daydreams

I feel like I’ve lived on my own head for over half my life. Not in the self-hatred, bed rotting, spilling out my guts to be skinny way. Rather, I’ve thousands of untold stories floating around my brain. Characters with voices louder than my own, their morals and values echoing in my speech, even if we do not align. Histories have been built up and destroyed in my head, time and time again, since I was barely ten years old. This goes way past children’s play or bedtime stories. This is all-consuming. I’d love to write and explain it more, however, there is an itch in my brain of someone else trying to speak. So I must attend to them now.