Found writing, c. 2010

While digging through old notebooks, I found this super random vignette that piqued my curiosity. Most stories I produce are based in reality, but I genuinely can’t recall when or what would have inspired this conversation. I don’t even know if it’s actually real. It’s from when I moved back to New York in 2010. Anyway, I found it to be interesting. Maybe you will too.

“You know, well, when you know…” she replied.

“Well, that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing,” he relayed. “Because God has a plan for everyone. I’m meant to at least try and show the world its injustices, and whether I’m successful or not, he’ll lead me too as well.

But it’s all tests, you know? Because without tests, we never know our limits and strengths. We’re a test too, you and I. It’s what we do with our limited amount of time that counts — and what we get out of it, when it’s over.”

She had renounced organized religion years ago — a childhood of theocratic imposing experiences had caused her to break away and instate her own ideologies, free from formative rules and righteous guilt.

Her believes combined parts of religions that made sense to her — reincarnation, love for all others, acceptance, meditation, fate-based decisions for phenomena that couldn’t be explained.

Her usual opinions regarding the religious beliefs of others were, “You worship yours, I’ll worship mine” —

Which is why she didn’t agree with most versions of Christianity, because of their tendencies to back-talk other deities and relentless desire to convert “strays.”

To her, when people died, it didn’t matter where they went — what was so wrong with Jews and Christians going to Heaven, and Buddhists reaching Nirvana?

Or simply remaining in the ground?

And more importantly, who really cared?

Yet, the things that Jonathan said to her made sense. They weren’t bipartisan — take away images of “God” and his vision of fate seemed realistic.

Whatever happened, happened, and whatever happened, happened for a reason.

What we learned from life experiences was the most important, and reflected the most throughout our lives.

She wanted to touch him — hold his hand, rest her head on his shoulder, feel his skin against her fingertips — but she sat, frozen. The possibility of reaching out and making contact would emphasize that this was a moment, they were there, but he would go away.

Touching him would make him real, and thus harder to get over.

“I sometimes wonder,” she began. “If I’m meant to be with anyone at all. I actually don’t think that’s a bad thing; it just makes me wonder. Either I’m leaving, or the man in question is leaving. Like, what does that mean?”

“Maybe it means that the one who comes back to you,” he replied. “Is the one that’s meant to be with you forever.”

“Are you coming back?”

He smiled, but didn’t look at her. The city was starting to twinkle now, the horizon halved with a sweet lavender haze above the slowly descending fire of the day’s end.

New York fascinated him — it was a kingdom surrounded by a moat, indestructible despite attacks.

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