Real Time

The world is not a consumate total of the spread of a woman's thighs, neither in the receptivity of a man;s seed nor the expulsion of the unions consequence from her womb. It is not the jagged line between the darkness and light such as the Mastery of a man over her will. Life comes with the delicate quiet of a whisper heard and the rage of a storm deafening with every detail of the shadows cast in between.

"Can we talk?"

My time among the outer wagons was no secret to him. He knew that I'd not slept within my own for some time. He readily agreed that we could explain that it was the pressures of having baes that was too much. He knew that it was not the all of why. It had more to do with his captures of me in less than discreet places, his use of me in ways that held no respect for a freewoman. It was how he carried me in our unions closer to an altogether different line. My body could not withstand the constant barrage of furies he subjected it to. My mind could no longer endure his obsessions. The anxiety and aprehension of him just coming close to my throat, my neck .. simply his entrance right now in my inner space had began to feel like a violation. This was not how I wished to feel for him. I longed for the intimacy of being together we had once shared but I would not ... could not submit to what he expected of me.

His told me he knew it was his fault and his apology was genuine. That in itself skid on an icy patch in my chest. I tried to reassure him that we shared the responsibilities of where we stood now. His soft spoken words asked that I take some time to think about it all. I wanted to find encouragement in his words when he said that we could put "us" on hold for now and find an answer. Had we not tried this already in other fashions? I did agree .. for now.

It was as I turned to walk back to the pens that he grasped my rear and leaned to whisper the obscenities of what we could do before I went back to the outer wagons, that broiled from the pit of my stomach all the way up to flood my face with fire. It wasn't the delicate blush of demureness but such anger as I have never felt before. For all the time and effort we had just spent in trying to work something out ... it was all lost in that moment.

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.