“They told her to grow up.But she kept her teddy.The purple wall still remembers her dreams.The marks on her face?Not shame. Not dirt.Just echoes of a girl who never got hugged when she cried.”
Soft isn’t weakness.It’s survival with gentleness.It’s still cuddling a bear at 18 because no one else held her enough.I’m soft. I cry. I break.But I’m still standing.And I’ll never stop being soft enough to love fully.
🎨: watercolour sketchbook
📸: taken at 5:58 pm on a wooden desk, like a quiet memory
Still improving watercoloring..😌








