Sunday Night mass

I used to dream of the light from city building windows and the open-ended questions that arose from it 

The possible stories that blend into those escaping gleams 

Who is still working in that office? 

What are they doing? 

Why are they cleaning their apartment? 

When are they going to turn the lights off? 

I used to only get a chance to see something slightly similar on my way to Sunday night mass as I drove over the bridge connecting my town to one even smaller 

I still think that portion of the drive was the most religious experience of those Sundays 

I was a disciple 

Committed without question 

I believed this light was the answer, the right thing, a good omen, a blessing even 

I let it guide me 

Over that bridge connecting my town to an even smaller one, to an airport, to a city with the light I so desperately obsessed over and found refuge in 

I stopped going to mass and was spoiled with the gospel-esque light from city-building windows

Initially, I would look at my view of the city and use my windowsill as a confessional 

Each night, when the sun set, it was as if I was receiving communion for the first time This light, to me, was all seven sacraments at once 

Then, you asked me about the red lights 

The ones on top of the buildings 

Haven’t you ever noticed those? You asked 

I hadn’t 

They’re on top of the buildings and blink to signal to planes

That there’s something here to be careful of, to not crash into 

I had never seen the rhythmic blinking of the alarming color on top of city buildings 

I came from towns where the buildings aren’t tall enough to warrant such alarm 

From counties where Christmas lights on patio railings were the only blinking lights 

Colors of blue, green, silver—soft and comforting

I didn’t care about these little red lights when the light flooding from the windows existed And I guess this is where the story becomes an analogy for you and our love 

I used to dream of the idea of love and the open-ended questions that arose from it 

The possible stories I’d tell my grandkids one day 

Who would I fall in love with? 

What would they be like? 

Why would I love them? 

When would it finally happen? 

I used to only feel something slightly similar on my way to Sunday night mass as I drove over the bridge connecting my town to one even smaller 

Remember those lights I was talking about? 

I still think that portion of the drive was the most religious experience of those Sundays

I was a disciple 

Committed without question 

I believed you were the answer, the right thing, a good omen, a blessing even 

I let you guide me 

Through feelings and experiences I had never had. 

All without fear because you had the same light I so desperately obsessed over and found refuge in 

I was no longer going to traditional mass and was spoiled with your love that I traded for the gospel-esque light from city-building windows 

You became my new confessional 

Each time I saw you, it was as if I was receiving communion for the first time 

You were the new seven sacraments 

Then, I started to notice some blinking lights 

The same ones on top of the buildings that were used as alarms 

Had I ever noticed those? I wondered 

I hadn’t 

They flashed on top of our love and signaled to me that this was the peak 

That there was something here to be careful of, to not crash into 

I had never seen the rhythmic blinking of the alarming color in a place meant to be so beautiful

I came from relationships where the feelings weren’t real enough to warrant such alarm From people where there hadn’t even been a light bulb 

I didn’t care about these little red lights when the light flooding from you existed 

But the flooding had stopped, a dam had been built 

I could still see the light, and feel its warmth, but it was dwindling 

The red lights were blinking stronger than the flicker and it was time to decide if I was gonna crash  

So here I am 

Still not at mass but back at my windowsill confessional 

Receiving communion every night solely from the light in the windows 

Rewriting the sacraments 

I thought it best to preserve the buildings and our love instead of risking a plane crash 

I still think about your light, I see it coming out of the windows 

But I notice the red lights too 

I used to only have new stories and open-ended questions after the homily at Sunday night mass 

So you’ve given me the chance to have something similar 

I’ll always have our stories and I’m sure I’ll think of even more open-ended questions for you 

Our love was a religious experience 

The only other thing I can think of comparable to my Sunday night drive to mass 

I crossed a bridge with you 

From limited experiences to a world of new ones 

I still think this portion of our love was the most imperative

• dating
• heartbreak
• relationships