Burden. Me, a troublesome responsibility. My internal monologue jabbing at every inch of my well-being. Am I enough? Am I too much? My emotional instability, not shy of empathy or emotion, but an overwhelming compassion tearing at every nerve, knowing that I can never be enough nor have that connection of a kindred soul. Longing for that same affection seeming unobtainable, but still settling. Settling because I am empathetic and compassionate. With every moan and plea, without hesitation, I do so willingly. Willfully complete your requests as your happiness is my ecstasy. Yet, when in need, dismissive is what seems to be. Invalidating and lacking sensibilities.