stay soft
entry no. 2 ⸻ from linen sheets and a computer screen.
Stay soft. Stay soft. Stay soft. I tell myself this every day.
I was born and entered the world. The air of this earth touched my lungs for the first time; I was the softest I’d ever been. I didn’t know it then, but as my childhood passed, I began to embody more and more of life’s hardness. I wonder what age I crossed the threshold. I don’t know. I mourn this loss of tenderness for myself as a child. I just wanted protection.
I didn’t want to be soft or tender or sensitive. I had already felt like mush. Like bruised fruit. But I was still sweet. I just didn’t feel pretty in the softness. I felt fragile and small. I couldn’t manage the precariousness of vulnerability. It still hurts at times, but I suppose I’m okay with it now.
I thought hardness would ease the hurt. It doesn’t, evidently. It just turns one pain into a different sort of pain. The aching will never cease. There is no antidote. It just sits or passes.
I suppose to be soft is to be me. To allow the vulnerability to exist untouched in my own heart. To be malleable and let my body move with the sensation. It is okay to feel. I let the hole form a temporary vacancy in my chest. The joy that is to come will fill the space eventually. Pain and pleasure allow for the ebb and flow of emotional vibrations. There is no such thing as constant.
All that is beautiful exists in the softest crevices of the world. I wish to feel the tenderness with my bare hands. Let me kiss and cry and bask in the brevity of it all. Things will slip through my fingers, but I ought to allow it. I will miss and yearn and grieve and my heart will feel heavy. This must be the way. I don’t want to grip onto something for it to be mine. Our clutches transform what was once beautiful into something false. I want to be true.
I mustn’t let fear dictate my actions. I will hurt, I will love. I do hurt, I do love. It is all the same. Now, then.
I try to let the tide carry things as they wish to move. It is hard to sit on the shore and watch the world happen to me. The water pulls back inch by inch, then all at once. The feelings are the waves. There is a rumble and a crash and a taking. My hands are empty. I am empty. But I look down and see shells scattered across the sand, and little bubbles emerge where the crabs are hiding down below. The lack of one thing can reveal the presence of another. Thank you, Moon.
I love you. Even though you’ve taken from me, I too have taken from you.
Flowers and fruit. How fleeting the beauty and sweetness is. We plant the seeds and wait for the peak. It comes and it passes. Death and rot are imminent, but they will nourish the growth to come.
Reflections. There is the reflection and the medium that reflects. They both have pieces of the same thing. Is a reflection real or just an apparition? Is it real even if I can’t touch it?
Coffee. I go to bed thinking about the coffee I will drink in the morning. And in the morning, I dream about the expensive latte I will treat myself to at the office. A simple cycle that keeps me going.
My Love Mine all Mine – Mitski
Nothing in the world belongs to me. But my love mine, all mine
This album is probably my favorite of hers thus far. This song in particular resonates so deeply. All we have is our love. Our love is all we have to give. It is really quite simple. It seems transactional, but all of our experiences are as such. To be able to give is quite a gift. The love comes back.
Bending Hectic – The Smile
I’ll force myself to turn, turn
Turn, turn, turn. We drive ourselves into chaos, but in the end we must be the ones to save ourselves. A simple narrative, but the instrumentation is so evocative of the feeling. Thanks Thom, you’ve done it again I suppose.
Before the Day Breaks – Robin Guthrie & Harold Budd (Album)
I’ve been listening to this before bed. There is nothing particularly profound about my gravitation towards this album; I just find it to be quite tranquil and calming in a nocturnal sense. I love Harold Budd. His soundscapes feel complete and of their own universe.
This entry was inspired by An Apprenticeship or the Book of Pleasures by Clarice Lipsector. I’ve just finished reading it. It was my first Lispector and certainly will not be my last
Thanks again for reading my wee ponderings. I hope it meant something to you. It means a great deal to me that you’ve read up until this point. I appreciate you always.
Also — you can find the sort of movies I’m watching or books I’m reading or music I am listening to here. Oh how there is a social media platform for everything.
Stay soft,
i really enjoyed this <333