Sacrilegious
I wear a necklace over my collared shirt, the cool silver pressing into my heated neck with every glancing smile.
If I get too close, I think of sin. Not of touch, but of the cardinal rule that I not idolize another.
But eyes, blue with mirth, drag me down to the bottom.
Lips, fluttering in a smile before folding keep me pinned.
The laugh, I think, is what does it. Unabashed and sweet as honey, seeping into every atheistic bone I have.
And I worship it.
I watch her from afar, golden hair a beacon despite my twisted path.
I think I seek the closeness, as I sidle up beside my new deity.
I offer snark and sarcasm in bits, my heart smarting the whole while.
I think my hands are sweating where I stand like an honoured and unrequested vigil, but I can’t be too sure. I pick at my callouses, and the crucifix burns-
She tilts her head ever so slightly as she watches my reaction with amused curiosity.
If I had to believe in God, I’d believe because she exists. All that is left good in this world, inches away but a million miles away all the same.
I muse over this, when I am told I resemble a nun in my monochrome garb. Nearly laugh when I'm dubbed Evil Jesus for the day. She looks at me with a canted head, curious, and I stumble.
The cross burns.