I don’t even know the outline of the word bold, I’m accustomed to tracing paper, flower petals, soft served ice cream and hot espresso. I’m fond of wet grass sticking to my thighs to remind of where I rested. I’m realizing I don’t like things , especially harsh light. I like soft glows, The warmth of the winter sun, I’m becoming a soft person. Genteelness grows on me like moss. The passing of cars,the dew, the steam rising off of coffee. When I look at softness, I always feel touched. Passing time feel like the blushing of cheeks- everything becomes a pleasure.