The Tenderness Of It All

At times I'd like to shed this delicate skin; the shyness that cost me everything I ever wanted when I was small. But then I remember: I like being soft. Small insects make me sentimental, so does a cat rubbing against my legs; so does my mother humming in the early morning; so do the birds nesting on my balcony and the budding sprouts of my violets I planted on a whim; so do the elderly when they squeeze my hand as they tell me their stories of old sold houses and beloved missed pets while i feed them their breakfast. The tenderness of it all pierces me and I thank God I'm alive.