“it is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so very deeply”

I accept myself in a series of bell curves. Dependent on the weather, and always, whether. Or not. The persons I decide to be for the season- and the many feelings. I want to grow, but am stunted by my insecurity of the lack of normalcy. I am nervous, too conscious. Feelings too deep, too dark, too human? Am I too in touch with every side of me? Is it wrong to question my mortality? Is it wrong to cry at the news or love strangers too fast? Is it oversensitivity? Obsession with fatality? And details? What matters and what doesn’t? Who decides? I have been looking for years but cannot find the off switch to my feelings. I feel too fast, too deep, leeching onto their sorrows and joy and feel their happiness as my own. It is euphoric, to love to love. A mission, dedication- looking for good in hearts to remind myself there is good, to remind them too. I renew my faith when I dive deep, but I sometimes dive too deep and end up drowning. I am a nomad, looking for a broken heart to mend and make home. But then sometimes break hearts who love me the most. I have wings but cannot fly- the conundrum of my heart, forever coaxing my life. I want to speak and question, but I do not want to burden. I’ve been trained to be light like a sponge and absorb every heavy, waking sorrow, but will I allow myself to be free even if I am heard? I find too much comfort in what is not considered normal. In my solitude and loneliness the world makes sense, and in a way I am my own best friend. But an addict to the company of a few, that matter. That are not afraid to walk through my mind, and heart, this dark forest. A forest with pockets of light that are too slight for anyone to notice. I put my faith in those I love to help me find my way out. But there are the ones that really deserve my faith, who will come through, even if I didn’t have enough heart to love them enough for it. I wish my heart had infinite room for occupancy. Because love is not a burden. Friendship above all, is not a burden. To feel, is my favorite burden. I am in love with this weightless weight.

It is my favorite blessing, my favorite curse.

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