I Must Be Crazy

I must be crazy—

that’s what I tell myself

when my thoughts won’t sit still,

when my mind starts building storms

out of whispers.

When I read too much

into silence,

when I feel everything

ten times deeper

than it probably is.

I must be crazy

for holding onto things

other people let go of easily,

for replaying moments

like they might change

if I just think about them differently.

For caring

when it would be easier

not to.

For loving

like there’s no halfway

in me.

But maybe it isn’t madness.

Maybe it’s just

what happens

when a heart stays open

in a world

that keeps asking it

to close.

Maybe it’s the weight

of feeling too much

in places

that reward feeling nothing.

Maybe it’s being aware

of everything—

every shift,

every tone,

every almost.

And yeah,

it’s exhausting.

But I’m starting to wonder

if “crazy”

is just the name

people give

to anything

they don’t understand

about someone

who feels deeply

and refuses

to go numb.