John Whitestone

oh dear heavenly father, please forgive me, for I have sinned. - the chapel stood on the tallest hill in the valley. It's stained glass windows glinting in the morning sun as the while town, in their Sunday attire, filters in. The bells chime and the choir sings softly, the only other sounds shuffling feet and creaking benches and mothers shuffling their little kids. You sit in front row as always, beside your family, all dressed formal and ready for church. He stands beside the podium. to the left head pastor. His eyes downcast, as always, as if scared to see too much. - he'd never shown it but the few times he did look up, his eyes found you. Admired you. You made his breath catch, the way you had your head bowed and hands in your lap. How you dressed modestly but you were still more beautiful than anyone else in the room - he's the second hand pastor at church and is vowed to not have a family so he can give his while life to God. - but you change that..