We are garbed in grey robes of empathy and we feel for everyone, we feel a lot.
We belong to everyone but ourselves.
Our quest for finding our Alchemist ends as getting transformed into philosopher's stone,
And we turn others into gold by accepting their leaden worries.
Our attention is bought by a simple nods of approval & small gestures of gratitude.
Our love stories begin with concern and end up in burden of guilt and misery.
We can find solace with none other than but fellow sorceror's stones.
We begin our day looking over shoulder wondering if someone needs our shoulder to cry upon.
We rarely find someone who truly has our back when we break down though.
Our lives, sometimes feel like, were written when the writer had a writer's block.
And guess what, he probably needed an empath to get back on track.
Our innate religion is humanity and we seek anything but empathy because,
We know the weight of bearing unseen, unknown, misexpressed tragedies.
Our fantasies involves our quiet dreams where we get undivided attention by the one, like a happily ever after story.
We yearn to find our half, like everyone, however jagged our symmetry.
Our existence is like a emotional sponge, made to absorb what others cannot.
Our souls feel like open letter to others proclaiming,
"Always here for you."
Our heart sees misery and thinks how can I serve humanity rather than will the world help me?
We are true empaths and we are few.
We need help sometimes but forget ourselves if we hear someone even whisper,
"Help me."
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