All you ever hear these days is "love". How without love, life is worthless. How everyone can fall in love and then everything is right and perfect. Cliché.
I had looked for love my entire life but there is only one love really, unconditional. The love one shares with God. Any other love is but a vague reflection, like looking in a mirky pool when the light is shining on it. Not perfection but good enough.
But when I came to her everything slotted into place. It was more vibrant and bright than a mirky pool, like the crystal lake baked orange in the light of the setting sun as the cool breeze sweeps through willow trees that whistle and gently lick your face as an affectionate dog does.
No it wasn't perfect, because it had to be sin. To love one more than you love God, that must be sin. I took her hand and she closed her eyes. Usually I imagined myself with a lover being in a beautiful place. A beech or a forest or on top of a mountain, but my mind refused. This small, dingy room where the plaster was visible through holes in the wall and smoke and dirt caked the once-grey wallpaper black was perfect in her radiant image.
Eve gave Adam the apple after being seduced by the snake and now man is doomed to die, therefore to see her, to be within her beautiful hold must be the apple, the sin. That was the logic, but there was no logic. Not here, not now.
Banging. A small window at the ceiling shed a blade of light that cut through the dust and lodged itself into the blood-stained door.
They were here.