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100 Words on Love by Channing Miskel
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I still remember the things you confessed to me. I was a priest and our friendship was your Cathedral. Quiet moments became confessionals where the professional you simply faded away. Where you might freely express your jaded ways. It came as a relief. You weren’t as perfect as you initially seemed, not as radiant as I dreamed, and most of all you deemed me worthy of your worries.
This seemed to be a good thing, but a Cathedral is only as strong as the people beneath its steeple. And we were weak. Two broken believers. At times barely believing. Now it’s just me. We thought we were invincible.
We fooled ourselves.
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Photo: Flickr/John McStravick