Softly meant it all. Every kind word. Every open hand. Don’t confuse that with permission. You made damage look articulate. Sad eyes. Good timing. A voice built for the exact distance where nobody can touch the contradiction. From across the room charming. From across a screen tender. Close enough to need something? Suddenly everything gets complicated. Fuck your sad eyes. Fuck your act. You don’t get to hurt me then ask for the sweetness back. I meant it softly. Meant it all. Every gentle thing was real. I mean this harder now. You knew how to look wounded without ever looking responsible. How to make loneliness sound noble. How to turn being understood into access. And access into something you thought would stay open. No. That door was never yours. Fuck your sad eyes. Fuck your act. You don’t get to hurt me then ask for the sweetness back. I meant it softly. Meant it all. Kindness wasn’t weakness. You just mistook it for access. Your pain is not a pardon. Your sadness is not a key. Your regret doesn’t reopen anything. You don’t get to become fragile the second someone finally stops protecting your image. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You can be the wounded one and still leave the wound. You can be the charming one and still make somebody smaller. You can sound like you understand love and still treat closeness like proof you’re owed more. You wanted softness. You had it. You spent it. Fuck your sad eyes. Fuck your act. You don’t get to hurt me then ask for the sweetness back. I meant it softly. Meant it all. Every word. Every chance. Every time I let you close. And now I mean this too No more. No more. No fucking more. Softly meant it all. Still do. That’s why this part doesn’t need to be soft.
