I don't want to go there

I don't want to face that graveyard.

I don't want to have to locate that specific spot on the ground where right now you're being eaten by worms (correction - your now probably rotten carcass is being eaten by worms).

I don't want to pretend I believe it makes any difference whatsoever if I'm closer to or further from the place where we threw a few shovefuls of dirt under your midly decomposing body a year ago.

I don't want to pretend I believe you've 'gone to a better place' or that 'you're looking upon us right now from somewhere else'.

I don't want to live under this suffocation illusion of constant scrutiny, and I don't want to pretend that you're there, all the time, caring for me.

You've spent your entire adult life caring for me, and turning me into who I am.

That is enough.

I don't want to keep telling myself that it was the right time, or that there was any kind of force agent guiding whatever happenings happened. The truth is that you lived in sadness, struglled against sadness, lost most of your battles, and died a sad man. And there is no god in this. There is no major force in this. There's luck, and chance, and randomness, and hard work. But there is no god in this. No god at all. And you have no idea how thankful for that I am.

That is the one thing that gives me any comfort at all. Your whole life you ranted about god and how sarcastically sado-masochistic he was (no, I won't capitalize nouns and pronouns to emphasize a fallacy). Your whole life you talked about heaven and hell, and how ridiculous you thought the concepts were, and all you got was frowned upon.

Not from me, dad.

I miss you unbearably much, and there is a million billion reasons why I wish you were, but right now the chief one was that I just wanted you to hear from me that I agree with you. God is a bastard BDSM junkie and I'm unbelievably glad he doesn't exist.

Wish you were here. Thanks for existing.