“Was it just another metaphor? People closed the churches…”
“…so God opened a church in every loving heart. It sounds like a metaphor, but it’s what I truly feel. It wasn’t me who said it first, but I just love the feeling…”
There we were, sitting on a bench in front of a closed church, searching for a closure. As ironic as it sounds. Me and Christian…both of us knowing that good stories never truly end. That there’s no way to define this relationship that seemed to be old as time and still new, every time we see each other.
“What are you truly asking me, Chris?”
I said it in a soft voice, almost like talking to a child, because, despite of his bravery, in spite of his anger, his heart is just as fragile as mine. And his relationship with God is marked by bitterness, pain, resentment, rejection. His searches for love are always ending in tragedy. Not this time, not with me.
“The church in your heart, does it offer any salvation?”
I smiled and gently touched his face.
“We saved each other far too many times. I’m more than that girl you once found, crying in the rain, completely broken, so alone and so ravished…You held me through the hardest part, so my church is built on your love for me.”
“I’m more than the broken man you once smiled to, the lost, the drugged, the suicidal, the dark one. You said I can be more, so I became more. I became stronger and better. So where’s my reward? You should have been my reward! So my church is built on this never ending longing…”
And suddenly, I understood his anger. His resentment. His determination to play this role of “dark knight”. His choice for a “church” in complete opposition to Christianity.
Because I was there too! I still am…in love with the one who can’t love me back.
I thought that my love will move mountains! I thought that being the perfect wife, partner, lover, friend will be somehow rewarded. I loved until I was too exhausted to live. And I broke down in pieces when I finally realized that I loved in vain.
“I guess it’s too late for me to be forgiven…”
He mistook my silence for rejection, so I just cupped his face, getting lost, once again, into the burning flames of his eyes.
“I love you, Chris. In ways I cannot explain. I don’t think this could ever change, nor I want to change it.”
“Forgive me. For stalking you. For hating you. For invoking demons, for using black magic, for every stupid, mean, wrong thing I ever did in order to have you. For stealing, for lying, for shocking you in every way I could…Forgive me.”
I hugged him tighter, knowing how hard it was for him to take off the mask, to abandon his role, to be fragile in a world that demands us to be made of stone and iron.
“No need to forgive, you are loved…” I whispered.
And this time, I spoke to myself too.
All credits for the photo to the talented Jakob Wiesinger from http://www.pixabay.com