selfconfession

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Or should I say bless me?

Forgive me will do. Blessings died with Kurt.

Forgive me than.

What have you done?

I’ve broken my promise to you and to the one I said I loved.

That’s why I count on prayers from the heart. Moving lips are mostly talk back, unless they’re used for kissing or breathing life.

You’re funny.

You reckon? I’m the funniest. Go ahead with your confession. Cut the bullshit. I’ll redeem you without you having to kiss my ass. As long as you man up to your deeds.

I made a promise and broke it. I’m shit. I know.

I made the promise never to interfere, but free will can be a tricky concept. I haven’t interfered; I’ve only multiplied the options.

You know what’s funny? I didn’t even change my mind. It simply hadn’t been made up in the first place. I got caught up in this verve of doing things beacuse they were supposed to be done. And in a rushing manner like I was dying for it to be over before it had even started. I had believed in it for so long, that I was mesmerized by the fact it was finally happening, that I haven’t even stopped myself to wonder if I still needed it or not.

Text book case of error in judgment. And by that I don’t mean the B book.

Surely not. That much I can figure out.

Are you sorry?

For living in a blur? Yes. For believing? No. For causing pain? Yes. For the hard work to make it work? No. For the broken promise? Yes. For its outcome? No.

That’s an even double 3.

Or triple 2. (soft smile) What’s your take on this saying: if you sin and it involves someone else, confess it to God and ask the someone to forgive you for your mistake. If your sin only involves you, confess it to God and ask Him to forgive you - then keep it to yourself and forgive yourself, because God already has.

Perfect example of human bullshit. I’m guessing this is behind this step of yours, ha?

Not entirely. I owed you one. Yet another one to be exact. You almost had me believe it could work. And I did. And it did for a while. Or I thought it did. Or I simply wanted so desperately to think it did that I did. But it didn’t. Even though I did. And I’m not trying to make it sound funny. Cause it’s not.

You just sounded like a five year old. Which, if you had been… We would not be having this discussion. We would debate more important things like the genuine essence of playing or how to laugh from the heart and mean it. Nobody forces the mouse to go for the cheese. But mice rarely make it out of the trap. When they do, and if they do, they should be happy and mean it. It’s always been this soft balance between right and wrong. Tilt it only a little in favor of the right, and you’re riding the plus wave. Early broken heart heals faster than a very old and too-long-time broken one.

You know that childhood sickness of pustules that itch like crazy, that you can hardly keep away from scratching, and once you do scratch, you feel guilty for doing so, but at the same time feel free and gleeful and relieved…I feel like I'm coming down with that.

Again? Back to childhood, eh?

Ironically, yes. We'll have to catch up on the five year old topics. As for the boils, I’ll be permanently scarred. That will be my mark. It will always be a part of me. But oh boy, that scratching...