It's bad, I shouldn't. I can tell it's bad because, as I type this out, the word "overthink" has that red squiggly line that reminds you to check your spelling. It's not even a real word. That's how I know I shouldn't do it.
But I do. And I won't stop.
But I must. I should stop.
For the sake of something beautiful and new, I should stop. I should learn to enjoy the moment and not rely on the pleasure and satisfaction of hoping. Hope is my drug. You know how some people fear the unknown? I do, too. I just love it, too. My imagination paints this perfect picture, and that perfect picture sustains me. Of course, when the other shoe drops (the fearful shoe), I'm terrified.
I'm addicted to the unknown. To the ecstasy of maybe and the torture of what if.
It's not fucked up, but it's kinda weird.
Idle hands are the overthinker's worst companions or something similar.
I wish there were red squiggly lines that would tell me when I'm doing something I shouldn't be doing.