Atheists Who Kneel and Pray

by Tarryn Fisher

Besides, technology couldn’t replace class.

“You think you’re good at pretending to be about me, but you’re about you,” I told him. He shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”

When the people who were supposed to like you didn’t—it made male attention a requirement.

“Just because you hurt my damn feelings doesn’t mean I want you to go,” he said. “My feelings are my problem, not yours.”

“When you try to prove your art you’re going to fail every time.”

He was too much and I was too little.

Stop talking to my boyfriend about art, you cunt.

“Does this life bore you? Living together, the familiarity?” He started to dig his fingers into my ribs in an attempt to tickle me. I wriggled out of his grip and turned to face him. “No,” I answered honestly. “I bore me.”

Only the wealthy are tan, I think.

Cruel and the truth are the same thing.

It’s like living by a lake your whole life and then being taken to the ocean.”

It feels better to speak in metaphor, easier. It’s saying the truth without actually saying the truth.

“She said that if you give a random object to a person who is searching for something they would create their own meaning around it, and that meaning would reflect the deepest desire of their heart. It was a way for the person to find their way back to you. Even if it took a lifetime. There was no way I could have said anything to make you realize it was me you were looking for your whole life. You had to realize that on your own.”