I cherish my softness. If I am not permeable and porous, then how can you get into me? And you have already sensed how very desperately I want you to break through my barriers so that I can feel you deep inside me churning and shape-changing in my gut as if you were my child or some divine catalyst. (Which of course you are.) I want to be transmuted by you.
But this world wants us to be hard and autonomous. It wants me not to need you. It worships the anodized, case-hardened things, the bullets that pierce the fluid confusion that is our existence. The Triumphant. The Vain. The Self-Assured. The Driven. The Single-Minded – these are the world’s heroes.
But not mine. The Doubtful. The Uncertain. The Yearning. The Wounded. The Searchers. These are my tribe.
But to remain soft in this world, you must become hard. I am tired of all those who want to own and define me. Friends and lovers will try to contain and compartmentalize you; they will flee from your openness, your need. To resist the endless entreaties to become reinforced and impregnable, you must build a high barricade around your soft center.
If you want to remain soft, you must become very hard.