I laid there. Motionless. Still.
A sweat pearl rolled down my neck, onto the crumbled sheet.
I know he can kill. That he will. Kill me softly, with pleasure, kill me. Mourning that will leave no evidence of any murder. I will be killed, my heart will be slaughtered and I will lay there. Like I did the night before. Well aware that I am being killed softly. Killed with passion. Killed with love.
He is a soldier. He has to go. For the love of country, he has to go, go and save the lives while I, I lay here, motionless and still. He. He kills. Kills me softly. Kills me, everytime he kisses me. For the fear stands like a perpetual halo, telling me, he will go. Go away.
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