My father said the other day
with a sad smile
his calloused fingers ran through my hair,

"You feel too deeply:
it is both a blessing
and a curse."

"Blessing?" I inquired.

He had no answer.
His hand gently provided more weight
and suddenly I knew.

It is not a blessing
to be different from the majority
from pragmatic individuals
who superficially skim over events
--that hurt, injure, sadden-- me.

No;
it is a curse.

I remember
I remember your smile
I remember your smile in the depths of night, where remnants of vanilla ice cream leave acid bitterness on my tongue
as I steady my heart for another day
where the sun shines brightly
and the distance between our hands grow
and all I'm left holding
is a ripped, wounded memory
of you

Beauty is
Flowers, rain, the night skies, city lights,
and,
benevolence and compassion.

For I see humans everywhere,
but no humanity.

Was I ever special to you; or am I delusional?