Life and a Whole Lot of (Hot) Priests

I’m starting to feel like the Fleabag (a character from a namesake series) of my own life…
(Read at your discretion, the references are not an impediment in the comprehension of this miserable post.)
I suspect it’s easier to feel so when a certain time and experience comes and you begin to understand what underlies your entire life and the situations within it. And you analyze yourself to the point of serialization. And you look at yourself through the eyes of a camera, and the only other eyes you’ll bear to gaze at, are the priest’s ones.
Your priest is someone you feel like you’ve always known and you love this person tremendously, to the point of questioning your own beliefs and faith. He makes you want to drag him out of his Holy seat and have him kneel to kiss you under the Church’s main arch.
Your priest is someone that makes you laugh and become aware of how silly humans really are and how insecure, yet precious, you are.
He makes you want to rip of his pristine robes and sin, sin endlessly.
You pray people in your life will save you from your own rapture, nonetheless, you know you’ll end up burning and going up in flames all alone. Praying won’t save you, however.
You look at yourself again and desperately cling on to a look from a camera lense. But that look is only yours. It belongs to you and it’s stuck on a device pointing directly at you. It won’t change its target. And you feel chastised and the sheer agony terrorizes you.
But your priest suddenly reappears on the scene and you feel safe and assured. While, on the other hand, you feel like you want to make him have a little taste of Hell or the devilish ways you know so well.
(Oh, the unholy agony.)
You beg the priest to ravish you, but he’s already charmed entire trains of your thought. You love him to the point of utter disappointment and yet no religion on Earth will purify your soul.
You look at the camera once more and it’s still there, separating you from the person behind it. It’s still you and the lense and the red light that signals the recording.
You look back at the priest and oh, you still love him. You love him from Heaven to Hell. And in your heart, you’ve only met Hell. You know not of the purity of Heaven. You know not if it exists. But he makes you want to believe.
The priest hands you a Bible with his favorite passages marked down. He claims you should familiarize yourself with the writings you know to be of man, and expand to the divine. And you take the Holy book into your care and know you will read it all, in good spirit and faith.
You look at the camera yet again. And it’s a wall of silence.
You get home and all the readings that awaited you were pure loving poetry. But the priest doesn’t love you. But you don’t know it yet.
You take comfort in the words said to belong to the Lord. You believe. But love it is not. Love it will never be. The love the priest wants to show you is not his, it’s above him. (Or so it is written.)
The camera is still there and it meets you on your last sight of the priest.
The bus stop is empty and though both hearts in it are full, they are fulfilled by different sources. You love the priest. He loves you not. But he channels a higher love towards you that you can’t help but sense overwhelmingly. And your heart is shattered. You love him. You always did so. But he doesn’t love you.
A fox passes by alone when you’re left to yourself. And the camera leaves. And you walk away. You have the hope you’ll love wholeheartedly again, but you are unsure. You are only insecure, for the moment. Not in love or lustful. Just insecure and alone.
But you will love again. (Or you will be damned.)

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