I spent my younger years denying my sensitivity. While mum teared up in the couch watching Korean drama, I calmly predicted the plot till the end of the story line. I traveled. Moved to live some 10,000km away from home. Unblocked my drain and changed my light bulbs, I couldn't be the sensitive one.
Yet one grey autumn afternoon, the end of daylight saving, your nextness and nearness was 17 hours away, I found myself slowly fading into the endless grey.
I had to wander across the road, buy myself a bunch of sunflowers and let them sit on my desk while I worked. Slowly, my usual joyful self ascended in the warm bright yellow light. I still felt the empty spot between my ribs, but I could make myself a bowl of warm soup, care for my dogs, pull up a new canvas while carrying my blue. So I decided to preserve the flowers with my paint brushes. And here they are.
One day, they might be hanging on someone else's wall but the bright yellow light will always be with me. As a reminder. Sensitivity simply means I might be a little sad because the world is suddenly grey. I might need to buy a bunch of sunflowers every now and then to sit with me in the blue for a while. But with the warm bright light within, my sadness will no longer be your burden, and it barely burdens me. It simply lives through me for a brief moment. When you ask me about the painting, I will tell you I missed you, I bought myself a bunch of sunflowers, and they made me happy.