“I am not in love with the Church.”
I text it out and lay the phone quiet on my desk. The room fills with the late afternoon sun flood that always reminds me of magic. Nothing so luminous and revealing can be real. The dog lies lazy on the ragged sofa, long collie nose hanging over the edge. Nothing happens, now that I have confessed. I sigh heavy out of my desk chair, grab the paperback and plod three feet to push the dog over for a square of the couch. What happens now? I stare blankly at the words on the page in front of me. It is a short story about a couple telling each other their shameful secrets every night in the darkness. Sadness wells slowly in me like rising water. I turn the book down and watch the hour stretch into evening and the magic light begin to fade.
The phone rings and I see his name glow. He has gotten my text. I hesitate before picking it up.
“Hi.” I say.