People who feel are drooping flowers. The tiny ones that the rain beats with it's fists. Anger comes with it's boiling rage. Then the mouth speaks: dropping eggs that are broken alongside many hearts. The sadness follows and then it covers you like a warm duvet. It is like a bodyguard that protects you and pushes everyone else away. When laughter comes, it comes with fear that the good feeling is your salary: it never lasts. What a price to pay for being so sensitive, bending like the plant in the sun? Switching moods and changing colors? You pay in full with the tears that stain your beautifully crafted face.
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