The Priest

   I walked in with a hope. A hope that grew bigger and bigger as I walked in to that old little church. The hope had grown so big that it was swallowing me whole.
   I walked in and touched the velvet curtains that were draped around the door. They were a brilliantly beautiful red that welcomed you immediately.
   I took one more step in that church when the smell of vanilla hit me like a bat to a baseball. It smelled so divine yet it reminded me of my childhood. I took a big whiff and moved on.
   I walked to the place where my father stood every Sunday. Where he preached the Bible and sang the gospel. I remembered sitting in the front pew with my Bible in hand and my mother at my side.
   I walked over to where my father kept the bucket holy water and imagined him bringing it in here.
  Through this whole time I remembered and imagined my father, the priest.