Wheeling Gull Isle Revenge of the orchestra.

Maybe she was right.
How could she even know what God thought of her, what He wanted her to do? God made her this way for a reason, right?
But maybe she should stop trying to live for Him. Maybe He was only a figment of imagination; maybe He was a metaphor; maybe He was a myth meant to scare others into idealized perfection, an impossible image.
Or maybe He was merely testing her now. She did not know, could not know; and did it matter anymore?
What mattered was that Gramma loved her and thought this of her, and Dinah looks up at her with soft, squinted eyes. Thank you, Gramma.
Bony legs reach up to wrap around the tall graying shoulders in another embrace, and for a moment, everything disappears. When she closes her eyes, she feels only the blooms that hug them, and she breathes the scent of seabrine deep in her lungs.
Maybe she is a good person. Maybe that was for her to decide.
I'm glad you're here.