Sometimes I fail to grasp that my eyes look outwards and not in.
My head gets so riled up with emotions, thoughts, predicaments, analysis, that I can feel them all scurrying around, causing havoc, doing whatever the hell they want. My eyes are sucked in, swirled around like revolving doors and on every rotation scoop two armfuls of mind-sludge.
I see squiggles of worry, dots of hope, lines of exhaustion. I see the twisted butterflies, the vat of blank, the pit of discomfort and waves of unease.
It can be soothed by photographs, tamed by music. It can be comforted by tea and softened by breathing. I can rein it in and feed it peace. But if only I looked out rather than in.