i make His coffee before He asks
Not because i’m told every morning. Because that’s the rule in this house.
i wait on the floor until He takes the cup. Then i stay there until He says otherwise.
When it’s over He puts His hand on the back of my neck and i can breathe again.
Not a speech. Just the collar, His hand, and the rule that i don’t get up first.
Same sentence, over and over, until the page fills up.
“i will not speak out of turn"
my hand cramps before He lets me stop. That’s how i remember it next time
i knew what i did. He didn’t raise His voice.
Hands on the table. Don’t talk. Don’t explain.
The quiet is worse than the lecture. i stay like this until He decides i'm done.
Sundays feel longer when He is gone.
i clean anyway. i stay soft anyway.
He should not come home to a version of me that only exists when He is watching.
@LatinaCasanova if she truly loved you she would drive 2 hours to your house, spend the entire night dancing away with you and head to work 3 hours away in the morning on little to no sleep