Being a slave is hard. It's not what everyone seems to think, it's not just turning off the person and blind obedience. Every day it's a decision. The decision to follow and obey, to figure out where the humanity ends and the property begins.
There are times when the balance is kept. But then there are times when things are going well and you stop thinking like a slave. Hints are dropped and a request is made and answered with the silence that is a humbling reminder that you have no right to pose the request, the reminder of who you are and your place, of the lesson learned long ago about asking for things that were denied by silence, the reminder that you know better.
Or the need for the reminder causes a drop. A drop you don't relish and bask in, a drop you usually ignore, but is too deep too quickly to ignore so you force yourself to the solitude of alone time when all you really want to do is curl up in His arms and be close. But the decision to curl up is not the slave's to make.
See, being a slave is difficult. It's not for everyone. Usually I can handle it.
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