Soft, Still

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For so long, I lived like a clenched fist,
knuckles white, breath shallow,
ready to run, ready to fight,
never ready to rest.

I learned love as a currency,
as something you trade,
as something that disappears
when the ground shakes too hard.

But here I am, still standing,
still open, still choosing to see
light in the places that once held only shadows.

I have every reason to be hardened,
to guard, to doubt, to turn away.
But I don't.
I won't.

Because softness is strength,
and love is defiance,
and I am still here—
not just surviving,
but feeling,
trusting,
loving,
anyway

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