The Pattern

 My thoughts always followed the same theme: attachment and longing. But were they even worth delving into so deeply—worth rethinking why they existed the way they did? Perhaps not. Still, I kept analysing and re-analysing my behaviour as if it truly meant something, as if there were a hidden agenda even my subconscious knew nothing about.

Why do my thoughts always crave the same pattern, the same uncertainty? I kept asking, again and again, as though the answer were just around the corner. But I could never logic my way out of it, never conclude this pattern of behaviour. Did I even need to understand it, or were these simply thoughts in motion—flows I was unnecessarily shaping and compartmentalising?

Thoughts came and went, and I knew this movement was central to my existence. But did it always need patterns, explanations, meanings—answers my fidgety mind insisted upon? Maybe I was thinking this way because, months later, I was still grieving the end of something else. Maybe it was just the slow processing of emotion, my life being compartmentalised for no real reason. Or maybe no answers were needed at all, and I was trying to make sense of something that never wanted to be understood at all.