Soap by Axelle

Soap
by Axelle Paramour

It didn’t surprise me she hand made soap. Something so consuming as the pain staking process of creating that which cleanses seemed fitting. She was in each layer, her hands in each encompassing pass over my skin. But that was her, she knew how to dominate me in a way that was distinctly hers. She was an open palm, an offering, not a demand.

It happened day by day, she moved like honey over me. The quiet whispers and wonderings didn’t matter, we moved at our own pace. From the very beginning she possessed a deep sense of who I was, she knew this was just my way. I took time to work through things, to figure them out.

I hadn’t realized I was broken, till she had moved every piece back into place. She had healed me without my knowledge. So many things seemed possible again, seemed attainable because she could see them. I carried a sense of purpose and belonging, I began to view myself in a different light. But the further in she crept, the more fearful I became.

She was like the sun, her light was overwhelming. To be stripped naked and seen was frightening, I slowly began to distance myself. My feelings never wavered only my ability to express them. She tried to hold on, but I let the breeze and my own fear carry me away. I chose the solitude because it was safe and all I had known for so long.

I still carry her with me, she is that which I measure everything against. She has shaped me and brought me thus far. She continues to carry me, for her words echo inside. The truth about the soap is, on days when I feel my weakest, I rub the bar against my wrists. In the moments when I allow myself to mourn her loss, when I bring my hands to my face to catch the tears, her aroma is there holding me.