Nov 09, 2004 16:11
I drug my knife along the kitchen counter where we made dinner once, down the hallway where we used to wrestle with the dog, through the doorway where she leaned against when she was sick, and into the room where too much has happened to recollect. I felt it shake in my hands and I knew thatI just couldn't do this but a bigger, more primal part of me forced those thoughts out of my head, like an usher shooing the talking teenagers out of their high-school play.
The knife caught a piece of the light that shown from the plug-in on the wall but it quickly turned itself away, it didn't want to know what it was in the light, for it was beuatiful in the darkness. I leaned down close to her half-conscience body and slowly began to drag the blade across. I closed my eyes to avoid being forced to look at the coming blood.
Did I really know what I was doing? Was this premeditated or an act of quick emotion? Could I really call this love? By the time an answer could come to any of these I felt it slide in... she was forever changed. I left the knife where I placed it and stepped away. I watched it. She looked at the weapon of choice and left it where it was.
Slowly, she made her way to the bathroom to dress her wound. I couldn't explain. It was as if the words on the tip of my tongue were venomous... the real irony is that I coudln't stand to see the poison touch her but the knife lodged in her side was perfctly reasonable to me.
She smiled as if to say, "I know, love. It's all done now." I looked harder for the words but they just weren't coming. I ran out of the door. Months went by and she left the knife lodged.... slowly ebbing away the life I swore my allegiance to, my love, my respect, and my life too... and all the while with every drop I told myself it was for love and love alone.