You run on tides — moods, memory, the atmosphere of places and people. You know who's not okay before they do, and home is not a place so much as a feeling you can build in a corner of anywhere, for anyone you've decided is yours.
The cost is porousness. Other people's weather gets in, and some days you can't tell which feelings started as your own. You retreat to refill, and the people who don't know you well read the retreat as distance.
The Moon doesn't apologize for having phases. Yours are not a malfunction — they're the mechanism. Tend the inner room, name which weather is actually yours, and the sensitivity that costs you becomes the exact thing everyone else is starving for.