You read between every line — even when it hurts.
People say things they don’t mean.
They mean things they don’t say.
But you hear it all — the tone, the hesitations, the way they say "I'm fine" when you know they’re not.
You pick up on pain before they even admit it.
But when you’re the one suffering, no one notices.
Because you’re the one who’s “good at handling things.”
You forgive people who never apologize.
Not because they deserve it — but because you don’t know how to carry hate.
You tell yourself it’s strength. That rising above it is noble.
But deep down, you wonder if you’re just teaching people they can hurt you… and still be loved.
You become fluent in emotional labor.
You check in.
You listen without interrupting.
You support without needing attention.
You soothe everyone else’s storms —
But when yours hits, no one even knows you’re drowning.
You’ve become so good at hiding it that you don't even look wet.
You long for deep love — but settle for crumbs.
You want someone who gets your silence. Who sits with your darkness.
But you end up with people who love your light — until it flickers.
They praise your strength, but pull away when you show your wounds.
So you convince yourself that scraps are enough. That maybe you ask for too much.
That maybe you’re hard to love.
You’re exhausted from being “the one who understands.”
You justify other people’s actions — “they didn’t mean it,” “they’re going through a lot,” “they don’t know better.”
You humanize them while they dehumanize you.
You stay kind while they stay careless.
And slowly, your understanding turns into self-erasure.
You start to resent your own heart.
You hate how much you care.
You hate how easily you love.
You hate how much you still hope — even when people show you who they are.
But you also know you wouldn’t survive being cold.
That even if you could shut it all down… you’d lose the very thing that makes you you.
And here's the worst part of the curse:
No one sees it as a curse.
They call you "wise beyond your years."
"Empathic."
"Mature."
"Grounded."
They think it's beautiful.
But you know —
It’s lonely. It’s heavy. It’s draining.
And sometimes, you’d trade all the wisdom in the world
just to feel held.