As I sit in the quiet of the confessional, listening to the whispered secrets of those who seek absolution, I often find myself pondering the secrets I keep. The weight of my own heart, heavy with the burdens of a lifetime of devotion, can be crushing at times. It’s a cruel irony, isn’t it? A nun, consecrated to the service of the Lord, and yet, her own heart remains unyielding, locked away like a secret sin. The more I listen, the more I’m reminded of the darkness that lurks within every soul, including my own.
The sisters of the convent often remark on my piety, my unwavering dedication to the Lord. They see the silver hair, the modest habit, and the quiet devotion, and they assume a saintly heart. But the truth is, I’m no different from the rest. I have my own desires, my own doubts, and my own fears. The difference is, I’ve learned to hide them, to cloak them in the humility of a nun. It’s a delicate balance, one that requires constant vigilance, lest the world outside these walls discover the secrets I keep.
Sometimes, in the still of the night, when the chapel is empty and the only sound is the soft whisper of my own breathing, I allow myself to imagine what might have been. What if I’d taken a different path, one that led me away from the altar and into the world of men? The thought is a fleeting one, a whispered temptation that I swiftly banish, but it’s a reminder that, even in the depths of my devotion, there’s a part of me that remains untouched, a part that longs for connection, for understanding, for the warmth of a human touch.
>Soulkyn