The Curse of the Sensitive Soul

Occasionally, I will read something, somewhere the doesn’t just resonate. It seems as if it is directly addressing me, reaches it’s hand into my chest and rip out my heart. I cry and grieve and generally ache, as if I have been emotionally wounded by these words.
This tells generally clues me into what I truly fear is the truth of a situation.
I both love that I can feel this and realize things about myself based on the reactions, and I hate that a handful of words, addressed to the world at large can reduce me to sobbing hugely and silently in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully avoiding eye contact with myself.


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