The thoughts don’t stop.

I could not describe this better than @BettinaG

They climb. And climb. And climb.

They wear your suit, your shoes, your weight — but they are not you. They are what your mind manufactures in the night. Regrets shaped into men. Memories given knees and motion. Fears pretending to be architects of understanding.

The stairs wind through a face built of pages. Every wrinkle, every fold — a paragraph unfinished. They walk across the sentences of a life that never let itself be fully told.

There is no summit. Only ascent. There is no door. Only openings that lead deeper in.

This is not madness. This is clarity — when you realize that the mind never quiets, it only reorganizes its storms into stairs. @BettinaG