I actually associate softness with safety. When I think of being snuggled up at the sea with pocketcanadian I often refer to it as being soft and warm and safe.
Soft people. Soft expressions, soft embraces, soft hands. (at this point I’ve said soft a lot of times in my head and I’m starting to realise how stupid it is. You know when you say a word so much that you start to question if you’re saying it right, or if you’ve totally lost it)…
I want to be a soft person. Some place soft for people to land when they’ve been hurt or are just finding it hard or need somebody. And I seek that out in others (pc is one). And yet, other parts of me despise it, for being weak. They want to be hard and forceful and closed up. Sharp edges and sharp words. There are times that my body is on fire. All the self hatred and the anger, wanting to just rip all of the layers off of me. All the squishy, all the soft. Be completely hard, have no soft weak points.
So I love and hate softness, both.
i think we all want softness when we are sad, or when we need comfort.
when i am doing crappy, when i’m feeling scared or young, i just want to put things on my body that are worn and cozy and soft. no bra. soft socks or slippers, things that feel loving and forgiving against my skin.
i like soft gentle light. soft voices. soft hands. soft scents, soft touch. the fur behind my old cat’s ears is so soft, as are the black pads of his fuzzy paws. my wife’s skin. the back of my daughter’s neck, under her hair. the bottoms of baby feet.
i often dream of a huge, soft lap that i could crawl into…i don’t want to shrink down into my child self, i want it to fit me as i am now, with this adult body. a big, cushy lap, where i can curl up and have someone stroke my hair, whisper lovely soft words to me, pat my face, wipe the tears from my cheeks.
i didn’t have a lot of softness back then, and i want it now, all of it, with the intensity of all those unmet needs and all the backlogged shame for the neediness of it.