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.