A Sensitive Man

A Sensitive Man He was the finely spun, hushed type his character often folded up; inside pocket rather than on display. He felt different but followed the rules: school, college and then work. Politeness escorted him courteously; his kindness was always considerate. In early years, his words seemed slight and shy, he felt the playground of life swamp him so he shrank, creating a gulf of distance, away from noise and the carnival of people. He was aware of the room’s ticking clock, the pavement through the soles of his feet, the quality of the fabric next to his skin, the need for companionship of calm and quiet. He valued his imagination when looking at life, learning to read situations and people. He was called shy, or sensitive, when young but others, more astute, thought him gifted; he just thought of himself as …different. Some sought to bully, causing internal distress but he rarely backed down, until after the event, whereupon he suffered scrutinising self-analysis. As he aged, ‘sensitivity’ was something he polished, not a weakness, no, in fact… a valuable strength. He no longer felt flawed, however he did feel pity for others living a life on the surface of existence, never in tune with the depths of the arts or indeed the nature of nature. He shrugged away shyness, removed remoteness and learned how to breathe until finally he had a respect for himself, an understanding of others… and that gulf diminished. He now smiles as he thinks back through the years at the metamorphosis he has undergone; a young boy into how he now sees himself ……….an assertive, inquisitive butterfly! Ian Souter