In My Bedroom With a Nonbeliever

You tell me you are an atheist, I say I am a believer in something. 

You press my oracle cards in the palm of your hand, question my crystal collection, laugh at the little jars of herbs by my windowsill. When is your birthday? I ask. Can you make a Co-Star?

You ask me what the stars know that the scientists do not. I say, I cannot tell you that. You ask me what the gods see that the microscopes cannot. I say, I do not know.

And when we are laying down we kiss and something about it feels holy. You are the sky, a deep blue, I am the clouds, something translucent.

You say you haven't been to church in seven years, that you forgot about all the sacraments, the way the bell sounds when it rings, the taste of communion wafers on your tongue.

And when you come up for air, I ask you if it is sinful, being this close. You say, probably. And when we kiss again I think about the cosmos, and what they would think about us. And when we say goodbye I want to cry. And now I am crying and you don't understand. It is stupid, I say, but I don't want you to go.

I know you don't believe in anything, but I believe in this.

And when you fell to your knees, I was the one who prayed.

Jessie Sinitch is a second year law student working in entertainment. She writes poetry and prose and is working on a fiction book.

Jessie’s Instagram: @poemsinla