Wicks burnt and crosses hung.

Your seat grew frigid beneath the rose colored glass.

The holy light shining on us all.

Yet I sit alone.

With his presence in proximity,

but what about yours?

My pearls hung from my neck and my makeup smudged at the crevices of my eyes.

I’m sore, and aching for your companionship.

I’m held spiritually but I want to be physically.

I’m losing weight just sitting in this pew

without you.

My words of lies explaining your absence to others.

Yet your dedication to slumber outweighed yours to mine and his.

I pick at my ring. Twisting and turning it, suffocating my tiny finger to a purple hue.

The sermon speaks and the organ hums our tune.

I drink his blood and nearly ask to take your sip for you, his body too, but I probably shouldn’t.

Climbing the stairs to what feels like heaven, knowing I’m in hell here without you.

Yet soon I’ll see you again.

At our abode.

Then it will all feel right again.

Despite your lack of dedication, to us, to my personhood.

I can’t worship in peace without you.

Yet I’ve tried how.

But maybe I’ll find peace now.