I watch his fingers brush the pages of the Bible as he turns them.
And I watch his lips move as he speaks the sermon.
I notice the way his dark eyes land on me.
I cannot give a name to these feelings for Father Roman.
He has already taken his vows of celibacy, and I am about to take mine.
But I can’t help the way I feel in his presence: like I’m dying of thirst and he is the holy water I need.
No, I cannot give a name to these feelings.
Although, deep down, I know what this is.
This is lust.
And it will be a miracle if I can get through this Christmas without letting these feelings slip
