Head - A short story

I haven't posted on here in a while and the reason is my head. Now I know that doesn't really make any sense but I'll explain. Uni has been getting to me lately and has been incredibly intense leaving me with no room inside of me for creativity or at least that is how it feels. Tonight I finally managed to scramble a few thoughts together and so I wrote 'Head'.

Don't worry though because writing this has cleared some of the fluff out of my brain and I can finally get round to writing some reviews I've been meaning to for a few weeks!

Hope you have all been well,

Sophie

"Head" - by Sophie Brown - 20:02 - 26/2/2016

Head.

Sore head.

Tired head.

Bursting head.

Head.

My head doesn't feel like my head.

My head used to be full of words and colours and song and laughter. Now my head is just full. 

A full head is not a happy head. A full head leaves no room for new ideas, new thoughts or new games. A full head keeps you awake at night and begs you to sleep in the day. A full head weighs you down so that when you walk you don't see the sun or the birds or the clouds. A full head weighs you down so that when you walk you chase your shoes, the cracks in the floor and the dying leaves that scuttle away from you.

A full head hurts.

An almost full head is what I want.

An almost full head doesn't let you float away but anchors you down enough and lets you look about at the day, the people, the song and the laughter. An almost full head has leaky holes at the ears to pour out the bad thoughts like oil off of water. An almost full head lets whispers of new promises, new beginnings, new days slide in but is just too full to let the doubts crowd about them.

I want an almost full head.

I don't want this full head of mine.

I wish I could tip my head like a kettle and let just a little pour out, just enough, just a smidge.

I don't want this full head of mine.