It's such a frightening thing--having another's emotions at your fingertips, or worse, in your hands.
It's powerful, and it's humbling.
It makes me feel frozen to a moment in time--holding my breath, walking on tip-toes, trying to discover a gentle way to turn my feelings over and over in my mind without rolling over someone elses.
And my feelings don't want to be so gentle or silent. They are clamoring for attention, for acknowledgement, for my habitual processing, which often leaves my mind in pensive discussions with another.
But my habits have been changing lately, and where once I was a public person, I am now a private person. Guarding and deciphering my own language without the second-guesses of another.
But it is exhausting, this quiet processing, this secretive way of existing. I feel dishonest with myself. I feel half-alive with others.