The Cathedral

I stand by that cathedral.

A structure which sits awkwardly in the middle of my town. 

Carvings of brothers and sisters hand in hand, decorate its exterior. 

They are guardians who whisper psalms to all who pass by. But one of the brothers always makes you feel wearier.

When your eyes meet his.

I can’t help myself, I must admit, I’m always drawn to him.

He lingers at the end of the chain, his hand attached only by fate. 

He’s never fit in, he’s never tried. 

We all know he wants to leave.

Some say as you pass, his pupils will look down. He gives no judgement, he bears no forgiveness. He simply seethes with wrath. 

So if you ever pass by that cathedral, do not try to see through him. For this is the last evidence of my existence since my eyes had met with his.