i forgive thee

The gray-lit sky outside the windows tells me the sun forgot to shine. I have to wear socks and thick jogging pants just to stop shivering. All this cold air will keep coming after me until I close the windows shut, and even then, the stillness around me will not let up. I love storms. I love them better on weekdays.

I live near a church. Maybe too near. The priest inside that bricked holy dwelling has never heard of subtlety. He is screaming, to anyone within loud speaker radius, to admit his sins and ask for forgiveness, which are two different things. I am reaching out the window, to unhook all the wet laundry hung on this long pole because I can't stand to look at their drooping wet shoulders. They know, and they don't have to tell me, why they are sad.

They're not going to get any sun. I bring them in and forgive them.