I thought a thought once, and I did not know what to do with it. So, I put it away — hid it away for a rainy day. But that rainy day never came — as if, as soon as I had a plan for a day full of clouds and raindrops, the skies were no longer interested in such a spectacle. So, the thought stayed tucked away.
My thought did not gather dust, though, for I continuously brought it out and looked at it. I would twist and turn it in my palms, molding its potential into so many different possibilities. But then I saw that the sun was still shining, and I hid it away. It still was not a rainy day.
I thought a thought that one day, and I kept it away for a rainy day — the rainy day that refused to come. When I woke up each morning, before even rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I would take out my thought and hold it gently, allowing it to take a deep breath and see the world. And then I would check the sky and inevitably tuck it away.
What does one do with a thought when the skies are open, and the sun is so radiant? What does one do with a thought when there is so much to be done, so much to see? My thought stayed in my pocket, waiting for its time.
And then the day finally came.
The clouds burst open, pouring forth a flood of raindrops. Thunder clapped, and lightning flashed; the sky was finally alive. So, on this rainy day, I took out my thought and held it in my palms just as before. But instead of tucking it away, I let it out to stay.
My thought skittered to the window, watching the sky’s performance. It reached out to the window, pressing itself against the cool glass and letting its breath steam up the window. That thought I thought breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be away from my pocket lint and actually seeing the world.
I thought a thought once, and I had finally let it come out to play. It almost didn’t know what to do with itself now that it was out. Was this the time to splash in the puddles? Write a novel? Start a puzzle? What does one do with a thought when they finally set it free?
My thought looked back at me, as if it was thinking the same thing. Then, it quickly turned back to the window, watching its reflection in the pane. I stood beside my thought and held out my hand gently.
I thought a thought once, and it was time to let it be free. My thought tentatively held my hand. After a moment, my thought let go and began to dance, filling the room with its movement. Once my thought started dancing, it was as if it had gathered an audience of thoughts, ready to twirl around the room.
My thoughts pranced around the room, spinning and stomping to some unheard beat. Occasionally, one thought would crash into another, but, rather than be upset, they would simply dance faster and find more thoughts to join them in their accelerated tempo.
I watched my thoughts in awe, curious about their many connections and the way they would weave amongst each other. It was a blur of confusion, but it was a beautiful blur. As I watched, I noticed one thought — my original thought from that one day — sitting by itself in the corner.
Just as gentle as I had been before, I approached it and sat next to it. The thought continued to watch the others dance and spin, saying nothing and sitting still. As I opened my mouth to speak, though, the thought turned to me and grasped my arm, clinging onto it as if for life itself.
As soon as the thought touched me, all the others disappeared. There was no movement, no dancing, no beat. I stared in horror at the thought as I was forced to think. The rain slammed against the window and the thunder rolled, but I was consumed by my thought.
Where was the sun? Why could I not tuck this thought away? Was this really the thought I had held so lovingly each morning?
As these questions flooded my mind, attempting to blot out this one thought, the thought tightened its grip so as to remain my focus. It leaned in close, its breath hot on my ear, and whispered that haunting thought: “It’s your fault.”
I thought a thought once, and I had finally let it out to play. Little did I know that there were so many thoughts hidden away, fighting for their time to be seen, to be heard, to be thought. Little did I know how powerful my thoughts could be.
I thought a thought once and vowed to keep it tucked away for the rest of my days.