My bed was our temple. There we worshiped our bodies, made human sacrifices from each others flesh, closed our eyes and prayed to come at the same time. We laughed, cried, sweat and bled, and locked ourselves through those gray winter days. We were safe in there.
Then she left, only leaving the remains of a love that was but couldn’t last. Remains of a temple that couldn’t hold against reality, distance, dead dreams.
Months passed and all there was left were stains. Dried blood of a war we had in my sheets. Last reminders of a life that came and went, of the wounds of the love that, without we knowing, was meant to die before it was even born.
Today I am out to buy new sheets. Our temple will be rebuilt, for in our religion we believe in resurrection. On the fifth day from now, our love will be reborn, descending upon my bedroom. We’ll lock ourselves again, through gray and sunny days, and we’ll worship the sacred link that brought us back together. We’ll laugh, cry, come, bleed and sweat.