Am I wrong for wanting something soft?
I ache for quiet voices, for slow mornings and unhurried days, for warmth that doesn’t ask me to be anything other than who I am.
A place where nothing is raised but kindness, where silence feels safe, not heavy, where I am not told to grow faster, to be louder, stronger—less… me.
Just a voice that says— “it’s okay… take your time.” “You can feel.” “You can stay.”
Is that too much to long for? Or is it simply something rare— something soft that I have yet to find?
I wonder what it would feel like to finally rest, and not be afraid of who I am in someone else’s hands.
—borntobemestuff













