I’ve always treasured empathy as the particular privilege
of the invisible, the observers who are shy precisely because
they sense so much—because it is overwhelming to say even
a single word when you’re sensitive to every last flicker
of nuance in the room.
I am more sensitive than other people. Things that other
people would not notice awaken a distinct echo in me, and in
such moments of lucidity, when I look at myself, I see that I
am alone, all alone, all alone.
A
lot of people who are artists don’t understand it
themselves. Especially the young ones. They feel different, but
they don’t know what it is. They feel more. Everything
hurts. Everything. They’re super sensitive. They see things
that other people don’t see.
You are still the child who gently
places
fallen baby birds back in their nests.
You are still the soft soul that gets
your heart broken over cruel words
and awful acts when you watch the news.
You are still the gentle heart who once
tried to heal a flower by trying to stick
its petals back when ignorant feet trampled it.
This is why you are important.
This is why you will always be needed.
Kindness is the greatest endangered thing.
And here you are, existing, with your heart so full of
it.
"Anyone can give any number of
advice often nice with the word ‘YOU’ in own voice;
but he who is truly different, positive and wise always shows a
constructive action on his words to unearth
lies." ~Anuj Somany
"It’sa mark of true
sensibilityon part of a guy
toNEVERtry, adopt or even go close-by
to a practice of going down on his knees to propose with/without
a rose to a girl his love for her." ~Anuj Somany