If There Is a Heaven, Let It Be This
If there is a heaven,
let it be soft.
Let it be quiet in the right ways.
No shame behind the silence,
just space enough to breathe.
Let it smell like rain
on warm pavement.
Let it sound like your own voice
finally saying
”you don’t have to try so hard anymore.”
Let there be laughter.
The belly kind.
The kind you forgot how to have
when survival became a second language.
Let it be a place
where the queer kids
dance without flinching.
Where the men feel and
never have to explain.
Where the women aren’t saints or sinners—
just people,
finally allowed to rest.
Let it be a garden
no one gets kicked out of.
Let the water be clean.
Let the air be kind.
Let no one call it holy
just because someone else can’t enter.
Let it be a place
where no one is hungry.
For food.
For touch.
For safety.
For love that doesn’t expire
when you doubt.
Let it be
the apology the world never gave you.
The hug no one thought you needed.
If there is a heaven,
let it be this:
No gate.
No throne.
No final exam.
Just a light that says
“I see you.
I know how hard it’s been.
Come in anyway.”
-Eira Quinn
















