born to die

006

BORN TO DIE ── charlie mayhew.

The drive home feels longer than it should. The streets are quiet, the early afternoon light casting soft shadows on the familiar road, but my mind is far from peaceful. I can't stop thinking about Father Charlie— the way he looked at me, the weight of his hand on my shoulder, his voice saying my name.

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, my heart still racing from our brief conversation. I replay it in my head, dissecting every moment, every glance, every word. Did I imagine the way his gaze lingered? The warmth in his tone?

I pull into my driveway, the engine's hum fading as I turn off the car, but the tension in my chest lingers. For a moment, I just sit there, staring out the window, trying to calm thoughts in my head. It's just a conversation, I tell myself. He's a priest. It's nothing

But I know it's not nothing. That touch— it was small, but it felt like so much more. And the way he looked at me... I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away. This is ridiculous. I shouldn't be thinking like this. I shouldn't feel like this.

I get out of the car and head toward the front door, the quiet of the house greeting me as I step inside. It feels empty, almost too still, and I wish I could shake off the feeling that's been sitting in my chest since I left the church. I drop my keys on the counter and kick off my shoes, trying to distract myself.

But even here, in my own space, I can't stop thinking about him. It's like every breath I take reminds me of the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, the quiet intensity in his eyes.

I wander into the kitchen, trying to focus on something else— anything else. but my thoughts keep drifting back to that moment, to the way I felt standing so close to him. It's wrong, I know it is. He's devoted to something higher than what I could ever understand.

I pour myself a glass of water, the coolness of the glass grounding me for a second, but my mind is still restless. I take a sip, leaning against the counter, staring out the window at the empty street. It feels strange, how everything can look so normal, while inside, I feel like I'm unraveling

I shouldn't go back. I know that. This can't lead anywhere. But the thought of not seeing him again makes my chest tighten. I try to tell myself that it's just curiosity, that it's harmless.

The sound of the ticking clock fills the silence, each second stretching out longer. I wonder what Father Charlie is doing now—if he's still at the church, going about his duties, Or maybe he feels it too.

I push the thought away, but it sticks, lingering in the back of my mind. I don't know what this is, or where it's going,

And I know, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, that I won't go back to church next Sunday. I'll go back, and I'll see him again.

I take another sip of water, my fingers gripping the glass tightly, and stare out the window,
I don't know how to stop it, and maybe I don't want to.

I head to the bathroom, deciding a shower might help clear my mind. As the water pours over me, I try to let the steam and warmth wash away the feeling. After the shower, I dry off and slip into a pair of soft pajamas, feeling more calm and at ease just a little. I settle onto the bed, my body sinking into the cool sheets, but sleep feels far away. The room is dark except for the dim light of the bedside lamp, and even though I'm physically exhausted, my mind is still racing

I roll onto my side, staring out the window at the darkening sky, watching as the last but if daylight disappears behind the horizon. My thoughts are a mess that I don't know how to deal with. Part of me wants to push it all down, to forget the way his touch felt, the way his eyes held mine for just a second too long. But another part of me— a part I'm trying to ignore—wants to hold onto it

I reach for my phone, scrolling absently through messages and notifications, but nothing holds my attention for long.
I let out a sigh, tossing the phone beside me, and close my eyes, forcing myself to sleep. But even as I drift, I know this feeling isn't going away.

As sleep finally starts to fall over me  I can still feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, the quiet tension in his voice. I know I'll see him again, and I know this won't go away—.

DELULU IS THE SOLULU AMEN.