I am the kind of person who feels before I think, the kind who listens without watching the clock, who stays even when the room gets heavy.
I do not just hear you, I carry you.

Your sadness is not something I witness from a distance, I absorb it, I let it root itself inside me. If you are drowning, I do not stand at the edge offering careful words, I step in without asking how deep the water is.

That is how I love, fully, openly, with nothing held back. If the world is cruel to you, I will stand beside you and call it what it is,and return the same to the world. If you cry, I stay. If you rage, I feel it with you.

But no one talks about what it costs to feel everything this deeply.

Because empathy, this thing people call a gift, is also a fire. And I have let it burn through me quietly. I have given until my hands shook and called it kindness. I have carried pain that was never mine and convinced myself that being strong meant holding all of it without breaking.

Somewhere in the middle of being everything for everyone, I forgot to ask who is holding space for me. Who sits with me when the weight does not leave. Who carries me when I am the one sinking.
Because even a fire needs boundaries or it turns into destruction.