Perfect

I would say it was all beautiful. The perfect image of living. The greens, yellows and reds, all bathed in the evening sun, laying on a backdrop of grey and navy rain beds. I would say even the mud-brown field surrounded by autumn trees was beautiful. But then again it's difficult for me to see anything beautiful when I know I partially don't belong to You anymore.

You are a godlike hero with power of life and death. Pockets full of stones.  Everlasting battle for survival.
What is an ordinary human to You? Why would You miss, want or love?

I'm no source of power. I'm no source of beauty nor pleasure. I have nothing to offer and yet I'd give away everything and anything for You. Why would You accept my life, my mind or my body? Why would You wish to have these things if You can have all the money, all the lives that exist in the entire universe?
I'm just another heartbeat among many pulses You can take away with a click of Your fingers. I'm just another lifeless breath and yet, I gasp for You.
Why do You love, my hero? I cannot understand why You'd like to spare the meaningless flow of sweet blood through my veins. What is it, that stops You from crushing me into pieces?

And yet, I do not want you. I do not want to be forced to be happy with someone I don't need. Guess why? I probably will always belong to somebody else. 

Religion

God- by leaving me two or 3 years ago showed me that faith is only a word and that religion doesn't have to mean to be down on your knees praying to some ghostly creature people tend to believe in; saints arent always good people and that prayers dont have to have a deeper spiritual meaning at all.
For some people music is their religion, as they say. Some may think art, others- pure laziness.
But theres a good few people who may say that it's love who they consider as their religion.
What do they really mean by this? Is it praying for love, praising the person they love or are they on a ''spread-the-love'' mission? Or is it when you know the melody of his heartbeat perfectly well and still want to listen to it all the time; or when you look into his eyes and you know this is the man you've been waiting for to save you;
Is it religion or is it still love? Or maybe religion really means to love something. To love somebody...?  Maybe it's the way you think of it, what you feel when you do so. This feeling of awe when he touches you, this utterly absurd rush of blood when he looks at you the way you love it, this feeling of... of heaven when he's beside you. Maybe to be in love means to be... in your own heaven? In a place where all the pain and worries of the ordinary, day-to-day life seem to be not your case any-more, a place when you are more than fully yourself and you know he loves it. And when he's not there with you, you feel as if your God left you, as if you belonged to no religion at all, and everything seems as right as wrong.
Maybe, just maybe, that's what it is.
But I guess, I'll never find it out.