With too much input, the world narrows. Becomes only those things pressing in around me. My mind shuts off, quelled under the pressure of having to constantly process everything, unable to block anything out. The universe inside of me, vast soaring spaces, are crushed and crumble, my magic fades away, and I become only what the world sees me as. Only a physical embodiment of myself.
In solitude, with myself around myself, the universe stretches forever. The petty mundane becomes a ghost, an after image. I flow through the world around me. I am allowed to take my true shape.