Sinful Affairs
For a second, he looked almost like one of the painted saints on the walls, except his eyes were too human, too tired.
“Do you ever think,” he said quietly, “that some people were made just to suffer?”
“No,” I said. “But I think some of us convince ourselves that we were, because it feels easier than hoping again.”
He stared at me, and for a long time neither of us spoke. The only sound was the rain, relentless against the roof.
Then he said, almost to himself, “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“That we’re both supposed to be talking to God, but it feels like we’re just talking to each other.”