A head with no paragraph breaks

It's eleven at night and you're replaying a conversation from four years ago, with better lines. You're winning this time. Then the same three worries take their turns, and none of them gets anywhere. Nothing new is being found up there. It's one loop on the same footage, and you didn't notice it start.

Your mind didn't get louder. It lost its paragraph breaks. The cigarette used to cut the day into pieces, and each break ended whatever thought was running. It passed for clearing your head. It only chopped the thought off halfway and left it waiting for later. Take the breaks away and the thoughts run on like one endless sentence.

That makes this a habit, not a personality. You can't think your way out of thinking. Arguing with a loop just adds a voice to it. Move your body instead, right in the middle of the thought. Walk to a different room and name the first three things you see. Lamp. Mug. Doorframe. A loop needs a straight run, and moving breaks it.

At the bedroom door, set the unfinished thoughts down. Keep these overnight, Lord. I'm going to sleep. He keeps the night watch, so you can rest. The loop may start again tomorrow. Break it again. Every break is a piece of your mind handed back.