David Baraza
Stories (2)
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Soft
I am soft. I was born soft. I was loved softly by my mother. She cultivated my softness with a thousand tender kisses and so many million hugs. She would lay with me each night and hold me as I drifted off to sleep. I would find her in her bed each morning and slide under her covers to cuddle with her waking warmth. She would hold my hand and dig her long, painted nails under mine gently as if the two could become one. She would smile, kiss my head, and hug me tight. Then we would wrestle until she pinned my little four-year-old arms above my head to tickle me, making me squeal insanely with maniacal laughter, and I loved it. I would wrestle loose and pull my arms down to protect my vulnerable armpits. Then, I’d smile and say, “do it again, mommy. Please, do it again.” And, she would.
By David Baraza5 years ago in Humans
