Some days, I wake up already holding my own hand. I don’t mean literally, but in that way where I know I’ll need to be a little softer with myself. It’s like my body remembers before my mind does. I move slower, let the coffee sit a little longer, scroll past the news. I text a friend just to say hey, no reason, just a little reminder that I still exist in their phone.
Today, I noticed how easy it is to forget the small things that keep me together. The way my hair feels after I pick it out, the way my voice sounds when I hum something queer and familiar under my breath. Sometimes I look at my reflection and see all the versions of myself layered up, like I’m wearing every age I’ve ever been at once. It used to make me feel weird, but today it just felt true.
I think about softness a lot, mostly because it’s not always given to me, or people like me. Black, queer, tender on purpose. Some days I feel like I’m auditioning for gentleness, waiting for someone to say I got the part. But today, I just gave it to myself. Not because I earned it, or needed to, but because it felt right.
It’s funny how much queerness feels like a quiet room you get to decorate however you want. Some days it’s loud and glittery, some days it’s just me, a playlist, and the comfort of my own skin. There’s a sort of relief in knowing I don’t have to explain that to anybody today. Or ever, really.
I didn’t do anything big. I just let myself be a little messy and a little kind at the same time. I think that’s enough. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel different, but right now, this is the shape of my softness. And I’m not holding it together for anyone but me.