Bless me father, for I have sinned. My last confession was two years ago.

The brown in his eyes are like stain glass windows that turn into twenty-two shades of copper every time the light touches them. They are shattered and broken with the inconvenient truths of his past but I do not judge them, because together they form a beautiful window into the most raw and authentic parts of his soul. Yahweh. I know it’s a sin. “I am the Lord Your God, thou shalt have no other gods before me." Yet somehow his love surpasses holy.  I am a dedicated worshipper.  I baptize  my heart into the depths of him  and wash  away my original sins from relationships  which could never live up to the way I feel when I accept the communion of his kiss. I fear believing in you so deeply so I put my trust him. A risky investment, but I need something to persuade to me that my soul is not obsidian that I can love him without doubt or hesitation, but the thought eats at me like crows picking flesh off carcass.

What would happen if I lost faith in him?

Would he be just another theory, an old optimist’s fantasy? No, he’d be a newfound realist’s disappointment. The fear of the unknown oozing like black tar,  creeping out through the creaks of my prayer hands and swallowing me into a dark abyss of numbness. Would life feel as though it has no purpose? I would feel like the fool. The Jehovah’s Witness who just discovered she’s been preaching sweet nothings to the world, and people who closed their doors in her face were not because they didn’t want to listen but because they couldn’t bear to tell her the truth. I was so passionate.  Was it all in vain? Is there no heaven or hell, love or loneliness?  Just working tirelessly hard to be perfect but there’s no heaven. Afterlife in agony, as I reflect on having faith in an illusion.  I can’t bring myself to live like this. Father, he is my new religion, and I am in front of your gates every morning asking for your forgiveness I don’t mean to doubt your love, but I’m only human and my insecurities, shouldn’t they be expected?

I need something tangible to love. I swear he is holy. He will not disappointment us. I hope he won’t. I believe in him like I once did you, but he is so real and you dissipate through fingers every time I try to reach out and touch you. I need something tangible to love.

I am sorry.

I am sorry for this and all of my sins.

Please forgive me.