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I stopped believing in God many years ago. I don’t miss my faith on most days, but some days are so exquisite that I sometimes miss having someone to thank for them. It’s as if the day is so perfect that I can’t believe that it’s coincidence. I want to lift my face to the sky and say thanks to… something… for granting such joy to a mere mortal. I don’t mind it so much though. At least I have other mortals to share the good times with me.

Other days are so terrible. I look at the trials and perils in front of me, realize that no one on Earth can help me overcome them, and I catch myself wishing I had some benign force to hear the prayer I would whisper. I wish I could believe that some power was looking over me and would help me when I needed it. I hate these times the worst, even though I’ve always found a way to make my own wits and strength suffice. I always overcome, no matter the price I’m forced to pay, but I find no solace in this fact because I know the day will come when flesh and bone will fail me.

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