Him

He used to think that he was weak. That the intricately woven, brilliantly chaotic way that his mind processed the world was a common venture of everyone that he had encountered. That was his fear. To be at war, not with his mind, but in his mind as he watched. An innocent bystander to all the cryptic cross rails that seated his trains of thought. Constantly altering, always creating and destroying until ultimately the lines of travel inevitably sync up and collide with such force it shakes him to his core. This was mundane to him, he believed that he was a failure in that everybody else was in full control of this masterpiece of thought. Intuition is the ability to understand something instinctively without the need for conscious reasoning. But what if he were on par with it? What if he was an adversary rather than the medium in which it manifests? He was magnificently intuitive but, he thought through every ounce of it. Which would explain the chaos in his mind, processing and reasoning everything simultaneously it was a work of art. But he couldn’t focus. Thoughts so deafening, so intense in nature that nothing short of a man screaming in his face would be able to seep through. He was terrified of his own mind. He feared that one day it would get the better of him. But then what? There is a beauty in the chaos, the unpredictability, and in the fluidity of one’s mind. He had the most enthralling tool at his disposal, but he was terrified still. He needed to control it as opposed to letting it take charge of him, because time and time again it has been said. Beauty is what killed the beast.