Bread & Water

February 3, 2015

In the shower this morning, I noticed something strange. I was singing my little shower song - the first time in months. When I got to the end, I looked down and noticed - pieces of me, just... missing.

How did I lose chunks of myself?

And then I remembered. It was from our failed communion.

You were hungry, so I tried to feed you. In the absence of bread, I gave you my body. A pound of flesh here, a pound of flesh there. But that couldn't satisfy your hunger - and it was wasted.

You were thirsty. The tears poured out of me - enough to fill the canteens of a platoon of soldiers, but the saltiness could not quench your thirst. They spilled to the ground instead.

I would have fed myself to you to save you from starving, but I couldn't achieve transubstantiation.

My body isn't bread.
My tears aren't water.
And love isn't a prison sentence.