The grass was cold that day, the day she had met him for the first time, in this very garden. It was cold, just as it was now, touching her. She had always been disgusted of grass. But it was this grass that was with her now, wen she lay, blood trickling down her thighs and tears rolling down her cheeks, on the same spot she had been raped a few hours ago. It was only the grass and the gentle touch of it that was saving her from the solitude she was wrapping herself into with every drop of tear her eyes shed. The tears flew as if trying to wash everything she had faced in the past few hours. But the tears couldn't wash everything nor could they enclose. Enclose her from all. The memories remained. Memories of the first step in the abode of love and that of the first burn of betrayal. The sudden knowledge, that her 'home' was built of wax n that it was he hu had set fire 2 it. She couldnt decide what hurt more: the body they had raped or the spirit he had. She couldnt decide which was harder to bear: the pain they gave or the betrayal he did.
Or was it what she had done to herself?
How could she have let him mean so much to her? After him she had reduced her life to her love for him. And now that he was gone, she lay there, searching for any living remnants that he might have missed.
Like a few ants under a boot. After all, it was she who had reduced them to ants. She lay there, fearing to get healed in fear that she might destroy all that remained of her.
She sat up sudenly. Like after a long nightmare, with the final, consoling and almost forgotten knowledge that reality exists and that was just a dream. A dream one creats for oneself. She suddenly saw that it was she who had done it. That it was she who had let him enter her and that it was she who knew that he had left. It was she who saw him as the boot and that it was she who was now seein him reduce to an ant she movd away from him. If it's one's own decision about who hurts themselves, she saw what choice she had made and that she was happy with it. She stood up, slowly. Her dress slid down her body wid all what she had made herself endure. She stood up, enjoying the independent gravity of a decision realised and reached.
An absolution granted.
Or was it what she had done to herself?
How could she have let him mean so much to her? After him she had reduced her life to her love for him. And now that he was gone, she lay there, searching for any living remnants that he might have missed.
Like a few ants under a boot. After all, it was she who had reduced them to ants. She lay there, fearing to get healed in fear that she might destroy all that remained of her.
She sat up sudenly. Like after a long nightmare, with the final, consoling and almost forgotten knowledge that reality exists and that was just a dream. A dream one creats for oneself. She suddenly saw that it was she who had done it. That it was she who had let him enter her and that it was she who knew that he had left. It was she who saw him as the boot and that it was she who was now seein him reduce to an ant she movd away from him. If it's one's own decision about who hurts themselves, she saw what choice she had made and that she was happy with it. She stood up, slowly. Her dress slid down her body wid all what she had made herself endure. She stood up, enjoying the independent gravity of a decision realised and reached.
An absolution granted.
