Of all the words in the English language,
Soft is my second favourite word.
Soft, like love.
Soft, like sunlight.

I've spent most of my life believing softness is a weakness,

To be soft means to be easily broken,
Easily hurt,
Easily teary-eyed,

But it only took one instance of holding my lover's hands in mine,
Through a stormy night,
To realise that to be soft is the kindest, bravest thing one can be.

To be soft is perhaps what the world needs,
What it's always needed.

Soft – your smiles and the twinkle in your eyes,
Soft – The first sprouts of green in a field of brown,

Soft – our names,
The beat of our hearts,

A shared bottle of frooti,
The t-shirt lent by a friend,
Smiling at strangers,
Copying notes,
Applauses,
Lullabies,
Sky-gazing,

Tired eyes in the mirror,

Ma running her fingers through my hair,
A kiss to the cheek,
Whispers of encouragement,
Shouts of encouragement,
Your head on my lap,

Happy birthday messages to long-lost friends,

Chai and Maggi in a bleak evening,
Bonfires,
Masor tenga,
Guitar strums,
Chirping of birds,
The lapping of the ocean against the sand,

Leaves dancing in the breeze,

Soft, the most resilient state of being.

Soft...
Like hope,
Like kindness,

Like home.