I thought I had you back with me, but you have handed me a book and asked me to read. I can hardly see you beyond this cross, your voice becomes engulfed in a speech foreign to me that my mind immediately rejects. It scares me that this is you. I don’t want to lie to be with you. I will not pretend to be interested in salvation. I said to you that we differ, that I am not at your level, that I cannot do with forceful conversion, for it seems that I would give you more joy if I am like-minded.

I did not say what was in my mind out of fear. Therefore it weighs on me: I rather be alone than have my freedom of thought taken from me. I rather be miserably alone than miserably with another, or so I think. I rather have silence than sermons. I will not sacrifice my freedom of thought and my freedom of movement to be with you, or with anyone else. Whatever happens moving forward will be okay.

You care about prolonging life. You care about the afterlife. You deeply care about living. I cannot say this to you but I do not. I am okay with my own death. I am okay with a short life. I am okay not knowing about the afterlife and going to hell is not something that worries me. I will not lie.

I read to understand others, I write to understand too. I know where you are coming from, the brutality and loneliness that led you to belief. In my case, it led me to contemplating mystery. I know not what it is but at times I feel peace within and I feel grateful to be alive. Other times I have felt the sacred infused in a place, a song or a fragrance and I fall silent and enjoy that.

Belief can have endless manifestations, I will not pursue this, my soul is weary of waging war. My energy is to be kept within for the time being. And if anything at this time my weariness has me unattached from life. Maybe I feel like giving up.