There are times that I just want to know.
I don’t want to wonder, ruminate or try to guess. I just want to know.
Like the mountaineer who climbs the mountain, like the runner who finishes the marathon, I just want to know that I can do it.
I want to know that I can be pushed beyond my limits. I want to know that he’ll do it until he has well and truly had his fill. I want him to take until I have no more left to give.
But somehow there is always that little spark of me left that he never quite gets to. It’s that spark that later leaps into flame, consuming all the good work he has done before..
Even though I’m not a masochist, even though I have never experienced sub space and even though I am extremely sensitive to pain, I want him to beat me to a pulp.
Just on this side of still breathing.
Just on the other side of well used.
Because I want to know that I can.
So I can stop wondering and second-guessing what I am.
So I can be presented with the reality that I am slavemeat and nothing more.
So I can know.