I Stopped Believing In Fate The Day You Died

I was the kind of kid who was obsessed with the idea of destiny. I sought meaning in even the smallest moments. I looked for signs with everything I did.

I had an enormous crush on a boy in 8th grade who was so impossibly out of reach. He was popular, charming, adorable – everything I was absolutely NOT in middle school. I’d rush to my diary and write about every interaction. Once, he told me I looked like Rory from Gilmore Girls. It’s destiny, I’d think. Destiny because I LOVE Gilmore Girls.

I found fate in places it didn’t exist.

And then without any fucking reason I could possibly comprehend, you died.

You died and the phrase, “Everything happens for a reason!” made me want to punch a hole straight through our stucco walls.

You died and some higher power having a plan, a plan that included taking you away, made me want to disown the very thought of religion.

You died and everything I thought, everything I hoped, died alongside you.

When someone so amazing is taken away, it’s hard to think something like fate exists. It’s hard to want to live in a world like that. Because if it did, how could my fate be to continue on without you?

If fate exists, what possible point is there to living the majority of my life without your love, your guidance, your generous spirit?

If fate exists, why would I have to endure the pain of not hearing your hearty laughter?

If fate exists, why would it rob me of someone so, so important?

The day you died, I stopped romanticizing the world. The day you died, I realized there are terrible things that happen and it’s up to us to find a way to survive.

But it isn’t fate. Fate is just a fairytale.