Maybe I just needed to find an excuse to talk to you. About anything. Even a squash ball. Stupid.
Every Sunday I half dread, half get excited about going to church. Dread because Sunday just isn’t enough. Excited because I get to see you. To turn and see you walk (almost saunter) into church and sit so near and yet so far away. To steal glances or sometimes stares at you wishing I could be next to you again.
And then church ends and I hang around wanting to see you before you go. Just to watch your back as you walk off and never turn around. And then it’s over. Those few precious hours gone.
You asked me how I’d been. “okay” was my short and almost-true reply. More and more I find myself feeling like a naughty little girl whose disobedience has been to love you.
I’m sorry.
I’ll try to be better tomorrow.
MJ.xxoo
