I'd forgotten the beauty in mornings at my dad's house. My bedroom aglow with dim purple light. The air is calm and warm, and there's this stillness I wish I could contain in words. Mornings used to be the hardest for me when I was sad, because it's then that you are reminded of whatever sleep allotted you to forget; but now, it's the nights. Trying to soothe your tangled mind and quiet your thoughts enough to rest your eyes. Mornings are the promise of something new, better. I've been trying to look deep inside myself and discover the part of me that invites in negative energy from others, and then why I am so sensitive to it. Noone has the power to shake your inner state but yourself, so am I weak because I am so rattled by external turmoil? I don't think so. What I am realizing is that we are all more connected and knowing than we realize. We sense things, feel things- some of us are more intune with that than others.
But I know I am going to stop beating myself up over my innate tendency towards sensitivity.
I'm a feeler.


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