My mind is never quiet.

It’s a storm of words, fragments of sentences that never got said, questions that never found a home, ideas that never made it out of the draft folder of my soul. I walk through life like a poet in a noisy marketplace, clutching a notebook full of metaphors that no one asked for but I keep writing anyway—because what else is there?

Sometimes I wonder: how do people stay so quiet?

I mean, the world runs on words and ideas. Everything we’ve built—cities, philosophies, revolutions, love stories, justice, chaos, healing—began as a word in someone’s mouth or an idea that sparked in someone’s heart. Every skyscraper was once just a sentence on a napkin. Every movement, every song, every scientific breakthrough started in someone’s mind the way things start in mine—loud, raw, insistent.

And yet I find myself stuck, not because I don’t have things to say, but because I have too many.

I have words I want to give people. I want to tell them how their laugh made my day, how I noticed the way they looked sad in the middle of a crowded room, how I remembered something small they once told me and it stayed with me like a secret note tucked in my chest. I want to share ideas about time, about art, about loneliness and longing and the bittersweet ache of being human. But often, by the time I try to speak, I’m flooded—like my brain is trying to push a whole ocean through a straw.

And the world? The world doesn’t always wait.

It moves fast. It rewards the loud, the polished, the strategic. Sometimes I think the world isn’t listening. But maybe it’s just overwhelmed too. Maybe we’re all carrying libraries inside us, and no one knows which book to lend first.

But still—I believe in the power of words and ideas.

Because they are all I have ever had. When I didn’t fit in, when I was too quiet, too curious, too emotional, too different—it was my words that held me. My ideas that gave me purpose. That told me I mattered, even when nothing else did.

I want to believe there’s still room in the world for slow words, for deep thoughts, for people who carry galaxies in their heads and just want to share a little light.

So this is me trying. Letting some of the words out. Offering some of the ideas. Not all of them—God, there’s too many—but enough.

Enough to say I’m here.

Enough to say I care.

And enough to remind you that the world you see around you? It was once just someone’s idea.