You read people like you were born for it, so clear that the surface from which you instinctively run becomes transparent. You’ve always been attracted to everything that’s hidden and never discovered. You never wanted to touch what’s below. And again, people are your bait that stretches your palate, so you have no choice but to swallow them. You read them so well as if you had written their lives long before they wrote their pages themselves. Life never prepared you for it, but in the depths of your soul, you always knew that you were predetermined for a much bigger and deeper mystery of this world and that it’s up to you to discover it. People, their most hidden angles of the mind, thoughts they would never say out loud. You can hear them, even though they’re quiet, you see how they’re getting ready to get out, but they’re never truly ready. You observe everything that’s so superficial that you’ve always wondered how the surface remains just a noun for most people.
Everyone is satisfied with it because what’s below is terrifying. But you see it, images appear on their own, but always with tone. The tone that everyone would like to hear, but they aren’t like you. You see the color in tone, you hear it in madness. The color that you can touch with your eyes. Thoughts are piling up, answers lining up, but the questions are so overwhelming. How come you have that rare ability to feel and read everything, although you didn’t ask for that? You never wanted that power, that extraordinary feeling while you’re manifesting it. However, you can’t exist without it. It’s part of you, part of everything you are. So, you keep observing, listening, absorbing all those thoughts, all those desires, screams, longings, dreams, while you stay silent, wondering who you are without that ability and whether there’s someone else who can read you. But as the peak of all the questions and the lack of all answers, the greatest mystery you can’t possibly figure out is whether it’s a gift or a curse?