This is difficult for me, because I have no clear idea what I want to say. It may be that you already know more than I do, that this is the way everyone feels about you, that it is nothing unusual for you.
There is no one else like you. When I came from the upcountry as your brother's wife, into the circle of your family, you were the soul of kindness, you were the comfort that I needed. You spoke to me as a woman and a sister, not a rival or an intruder in your place. I would not have been happy without you.
Did you know what I felt for you? Did you know, that night, when we all slept on blankets on the floor of the old Church in Breman, with your children around us, and my foot met yours in the tangle, and our toes touched for an hour? Was it anything to you that you did not move your foot away, that your toenails stroked the skin of my arch as we lay there and talked among ourselves until the children and the men fell asleep?"
|