Softness is suspect. Softness is precarious; deteriorating objects go soft. Softness is a flabby tummy, flab dangling from an arm, overriding the band of trousers.  Softness is often a bad decision, like overripe fruit, and the morning on the toilet after having eaten said overripe fruit (and vision softs at the edges as the body leaks: cold sweat, hot, angry sphincter). Vision softs at the edges when a body lapses into collapse. Softness is weakness, a structural lack of integrity. Softness is indecision. Softness even has a smell: rot, something amiss. Softness overflows its boundaries, a fermenting fruit bursting its skin.