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Dear god,

Sundays are the worst because that means I have to visit you. My family makes me go to your house, uninvited. I tried to tell them that I didn’t want to go because you haven’t written back to me these past few weeks and I’m pretty pissed. But they still made me go.

I sat at the wooden pew, getting lost in my thoughts again. I thought that it was weird how we have all these different religions and we make stereotypes for these religions, we make fun of them, and we criticize them because they don’t follow what we want them to follow. But the truth is, we fail to realize that we kind of actually follow the same ‘god’ aka you.

I never really understood the point of religion. But I look at my mother and my grandmother, how much they are a part of their community and how much they devote their time into what they believe in. If you ever went away or never existed in their world, then maybe they wouldn’t have a purpose. Maybe they wouldn’t have a place in life.

But what do I know, huh? I don’t even think you’re real. You still need to write back, you know.

Take care.