Tenderness.

I have made a quiet vow—
to move only in the direction of softness.
No more bracing for impact,
no more bending under voices made of stone.

I speak in low tones,
like twilight slipping into night.
Even when alone,
I honor myself with the gentleness I deserve.

If you cannot meet me there,
in that still, sacred air—
where care is instinct and presence is prayer—
then I will leave.

Mid-sentence, mid-step,
I will turn toward the door,
toward the light, toward the silence
that never asks me to flinch.

I am not here to weather storms
that are not my own.
I am not a field for someone else's fury.

Life is too brief for battle.
I am here for the quiet joys,
for the slow touch,
for words that land like petals, not stones.

I choose tenderness—
and in that choice,
I choose myself.