thoughts from a cherry wood shelf

By Maddie Jaffe to be an overthinker, you must first understand what it means. is there such a thing as an underthinker? whose skull is a dusty, hollow, echoing shell? or a just-right thinker,

with thoughts piled neatly on cherry wood shelves? maybe not or maybe so but the point is what makes the overthinker? what encourages one to flirt with insanity? is it the never-ending nights watching your ceiling as 1...2...3... hours pass, your beauty sleep a runaway paper on a windy day, always, always blown just out of reach or is it the fact that decisions as simple as what flavor of ice cream you want are traumatic painful and leave you aching, wondering, still, an hour later, if strawberry was the right choice? maybe it's the eraser marks tainting your page with an irreplaceable, indestructible gray from half-finished, scrapped ideas and answers that are now long gone. so what, out of these, truly makes an overthinker? what does it mean, and how do you become one or make it go away? well, friends. I suppose we've overthought it.