I find faith interesting. I wish I could have it. I wish I could “have a friend in Jesus” and know that someone would always be there for me. I wish I could believe that there is someone watching me and keeping me safe. Jesus, the Almighty Parent, basically. I wish I could believe in something, after everything is shattered away. That there would always be a light, something to look forward to. I know what that’s like to believe. When I was a child, I believed. I believed that I would grow up into a beautiful, kind person and be happy and have a nice life worshiping God. Maybe not Jesus Christ per say but maybe just something, someone, that person that would always be there. But I grew up, and the Church looked more sinister than healing. My fairy tales of golden streets and diamond mansions vanished like smoke in the wind. The tide of hate, judgement, hellfire, and damnation drowned my hope. I grew up. I realized the pretty white angels dressed in pure lace, were just like fairies and that the big bearded man was just like Santa Clause. I wish I could have faith. I wish my primitive senses, my curiosity had just snuffed out. But instead it was my faith. I know what I believe in, and that’s the facts. But I guess faith in a deity is a nice thought. It’s comforting. I wish I could be comfortable, that’s all.