Thought, in so many ways, is like a great house that is constantly being renovated. Every new idea is a wing and every association of thought is a halway linking the two. When a thought is built on, a second story is added to it.

It is a constant cycle that changes the house in every way.

Its brevity prooves to be its downfall. Thoughts are left behind and forgotten about, leaving entire rooms unfinished. And when most of the rooms are left unfinished, the stability of thought is compromised.

In the house of thought, there are rooms that no one dares enter. These rooms are cold with under-use and coated with the dust of the tendency to block out pain. Opening the door to these rooms prooves to be a difficult task, as the hinges have rusted shut with the Thinker's eventual forgetting of the thought.

The doors are never locked, and sometimes, a brave soul will enter these rooms and will renovate them, possibly providing a different outlook on the thought with a new coat of paint on the walls of the room. Perhaps this brave renovator will help the Thinker discover new information about the thought by casting a light on it.

My thoughts are built in the fasion of a castle. It is a lonely, cold place at times, masked by an outward appearence that looks as if there is room for the whole world. However, there is not.

My castle is a secretive place, allowing only a few inside. These visitors, these embassadors will come and go. Some stay for only a short while, some remain there forever, trying to reason and reconcile with and maybe even love the lonely queen who resides in the castle.

And when the queen chooses to love, the guests in her castle are then as protected as she, meaning those who are in my thoughts are protected and brought under my wing for as long as I choose.

I am protective in the rite of hypocracy: Only I am permitted to harm those I love,and anyone else who attempts to do so shall be cast out of my castle and guarded against.

It is the conflict of this rite and those who are regarded by it that breed my contempt. I cannot knowingly allow the pain of those who reside here in this castle with me, but when the pain is being caused among the residents and aimed at each other, contempt is born.

And when my rundown castle becomes unable to support this contempt, the walls come down and if those who I have brought here to protect are hurt in the destruction, there is nothing I can do but feel guilty and try to rebuild.

My castle is haunted with pain and littered with memory as I try to sort out what is important enough to build upon. There is much confusion. Rooms are being left unfinished, ideas never built upon. The thoughts that cannot stand on their own are constantly crumbling and collapsing around me and until I can finally reshape the halls of friendship and fix the foundations of love and trust, it will be a long time before anyone can feel safe there.

So, as this castle is under renovation, please forgive the queen who is uncertain as to who there is room for. But please take comfort in the fact that there are some who she feels need her protection, and they shall never leave her thoughts.