I woke up this morning with my arms wrapped around my own waist, like my body needed a reminder that I’m still here. There was a kind of hush in the room, that gentle pause before the city remembers to be loud again. I listened to my breath, slow and a little uneven, and it hit me that I actually like the sound of it. It’s not perfect, not even steady, but it’s mine.
Sometimes I catch myself looking for a reason to be gentler with myself, like I need permission. This morning, it felt easy. Maybe it’s the way my hair stuck up in every direction or how the light made my skin look extra soft. I felt a little ridiculous, but also kind of proud. Black and queer and a little messy, but not in a tragic way—just real.
I thought about the way I used to brace myself before leaving my apartment, shoulders tense, breath shallow. Today I let myself linger in that quiet, just long enough to notice how much softer I am with myself now. Not always, but today. There’s something about being alone in your own space that makes it easier to hear the small truths. Like, I don’t have to fix anything right now. I can just be.
It’s funny how queerness feels different when I’m not performing it for anyone. In this tiny moment, it’s just me and my favorite playlist and the gentle mess of my own company. There’s a warmth to that—a kind of softness that doesn’t ask for attention. I think I’ll hold onto it for as long as I can.
Right now, breathing quietly, I feel a little more at home in myself. That’s enough for today.
Amazing work! I’m a true fan of Kabal’s creative writing!