The Flood

The ideas rush in like a flood. Swamping me. Before one can be finished, another one. No several, are there to take its place. To tempt me. To distract me. To allure me. And then those are replaced by the next ones. The current is strong. I am drowning under a sea of ideas. The current idea is there. But it is fading under the weight of the ones coming right behind it.

Do I even want to finish it?
I don't.

Do I even want to fight the current anymore.
I don't.
I don't. I can't. I won't.

I am drowning under the weight of the lack of importance the creator places on me, the idea.

I am the idea. The idea that the creator no longer cares that much about anymore. Old news. There is a new kid in town. The teen idol. The big movie star. The hot idea and concept. They are fresh. I am old. Long forgotten.

I am a flicker of hope every now and then. The odd time I am remembered, by the creator, or asked about by others. "Oh, that. Don't bother with that. I liked that idea once, but other more interesting, better ones came along. Just forget that one, it is going nowhere."

So, I wont ever become anything but an idea who sounded great but never developed. The caterpillar turns into the butterfly. I won't ever be the butterfly. I wont get to fly. I will just drown. Be forgotten. Buried.

Today, I drowned. I just couldn't swim anymore. The rushing water got too high. I swam faster, the current increased its speed. No dam and no dyke was going to stop this. I was on the wrong side of the creation flow. Washing away, fading away into the depths of the bottom of the sea. Just floating now. Lifeless. The flood washed me out into the open sea and buried me. I was now just going to swim with the fishes. I have been reduced to fish food. Which is okay. My brain is now mush anyway.

I am an idea that will never be anything more than that. I will die as an idea unrealized as a concept or story. Nobody will remember me. Or talk about me. I am just one of the many droplets in the sea that formed together due to negligence. We exist out here, so that other hopeful ideas have a place to drown.

Both the idea and the creator get drowned by the overflow of ideas which cannot be kept up with. Whatever is fresh, is new, is what lives to see the day. But very few live to see a future as more than just an idea.
 
I submit. I will just write them down and finish them as fast as I can in the vain hopes of finishing them before the current, the flood, of new ones come in and overwhelm me. One day, I will just drown. Like my ideas. The price I pay for being the vessel that has to sink under the weight of extreme intuitiveness and creativity. 
The ideas and myself, it is our destiny. The one journey we always travel together.