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And at that moment—at the peak of my high, at the peak of her greedy triumph—our eyes locked and we surged past every barrier—stranger and stranger, priest and penitent, Tyler and Poppy. We were simply male and female, as God had made us, Adam and Eve, in the most elemental and fundamental form. We were biology, we were creation incarnate, and I saw the moment she felt it too—that we were fused somehow. Irrevocably and undeniably fused together into something singular and whole.
I selected a glass vial of oil—the Oil of Chrism—and went back to Poppy, studiously avoiding the crucifix and the tabernacle with my eyes as I did.
as someone who was kicked out of the Catholic congregation I was a part of this is lowkey cathartic.
as someone who has a good personal relationship with God i feel a little icky but i think that’s religious trauma and maybe the point?

