By Grace Tynski
I don’t know if I believe a man bled and died for our sins, but I believe in the sunlight
coming through the window on Sunday mornings. I believe in the feather-light touch of a cat’s
whiskers against the skin of my wrist. I believe in full belly laughs—the kind that have you doubled
over and slapping the table. I don’t know if I believe in the cross around your neck, but I believe in
the collarbone it lies against. I believe in the words pouring from your mouth. I believe in the space
between us. I don’t know if I believe He created us on the sixth day, but I believe I was made with
love deep in my bones. I believe in waking up every day and living like someone is watching over
me. After all, what is living if not sacred? What is connection if not reverence? In the end, when the
world is dark and the soil is freshly packed above me, I want to believe I will be alright.
Grace Tynski is a high school student from Illinois. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with her pets, listening to Fleetwood Mac, or browsing the aisles of her local library. She can be found on Twitter at @folkloreprose.
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