Saya
The Slipper
1802, France
Your eyes are different, but I don't say anything.
In the bath, you are in front of me but not laid against me. With a cloth, I am wiping away everything.
Into the water, with a heavy slip, goes the redness from your body. From where it came from, I don't know, but it slides away like it was never there. However, around us it floats, never sinking. It twirls around us, going into our skin.
Your misdeeds are going into my skin.
The innocent blood of the fallen is going into my skin, and it creeps up my feelings. My hair is just long enough to touch the water, and it soaks the tip. Your soft black curls are floating in the water around you, touching my belly. But I feel nothing for it. There are no feelings for your dark black curls, unusual.
As I pick up your long hair and scrub, working from the tips to the scalp slowly, I think about how my hands are not tingling with pleasure from the feeling of the soft silkiness.
I think about who we might be sitting in the bath with. Who did you take away tonight?
And with a small pause I shudder away the thought and feeling internally. These things you do not feel, which is also unusual.
When did you stop feeling? When did you stop feeling for me? Where are you, where is your soul tonight? Where were you tonight?
Overcome with a bad feeling, I drop your hair into the water and it makes a bad sound. A sudden sound, like giving up. I stand up and get out of the bath, walking away.
I feel your face turn to me, but you don't say anything. With this, I know you are aware of how I feel.
But it is not enough.
YOU ARE READING
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