The song…
That fucking song…
It was coming back again.
Without brightness.
Without strength.
But with that insidious, persistent, indestructible softness — the softness of things that can't be killed. The kind that seeps even into the hardest silences, that pierces walls, screams, refusals.
And it was soft.
Terribly soft.
Not a fake softness.
Not a mawkish softness.
A true softness.
Ancient.
The kind that doesn't try to fix.
That asks for nothing.
That judges nothing.
That is there… simply, because it's always been there.
But that softness…
It wasn't a softness for me. Not an offering, not a refuge. It wasn't that expected warmth one receives with open arms, a heart finally ready. No. It was a slow blade, a tender poison. A hand laid on a wound one wanted to forget, believed to have covered in ashes and oblivion.
It hurt me.
Terribly.
