Soft.

it’s so soft and so delicate…

These are the words I use to describe that moment, which up until, I never believed I would be describing a moment as soft, but it is exactly how I felt sitting by the window in my university’s library, waiting for my electronics to charge before heading outside to read at a picnic table.

I was looking out, directly at the people whose bodies walked on the path outside, the older women talking on a bench together who were approached twice in the span of 10 minutes by people who I assume to be colleagues. It’s already been two months since I finished undergraduate courses forever, and yet I’m back here again, hidden within the masses and breathing deeply knowing that I’m free to float in and out with the tide. Unsuspecting. Soft. Malleable transience captured in the span of some slivers of time. The leaves seemed to sway up and down up and down in the breeze, glistening. A girl is sitting at the same counter as me, two seats down. But before she even opened her laptop, she cupped her chin in her hands and breathed in the same moment and view as me. We never shared any dialogue or even eye contact, yet we shared a moment, and as I sit sipping my coffee and watching the ups and downs of the leaves, it’s a pure interaction.

It happened, an amalgamation of stimuli, within which I could cherish a soft thursday morning — quietly relishing my gentle victory.

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