Kurt Hummel doesn't believe in God.

He did once, back when he was a kid. After he lost his mom, when folks would talk about her being in "a better place." It had confused him, because he didn't know what this better place was or just where it could be. It hurt a bit too, since what he did know was that her being in that "better place" meant she wasn't here with him, and how could anywhere without him and his dad be better when she had always said they were her whole world?

Then he learned what they meant when they said that. He liked the idea, how she was still being, how she was still somewhere she could be happy, whole and safe forever. How nothing could ever hurt her again. So he began writing her letters, tying them to balloons and letting them float to the clouds. Maybe it was silly, but he could see her up there, stopping her singing with the other angels long enough to snatch up those notes and read them.

But then Kurt grew older.

He still remembers the day. March 10. Mr. Scott's junior high class. Funny, he doesn't remember the chapter or book or verse. But he remembers the feeling so vividly upon seeing it all in black and white within the pages of the book he had until that moment clung to. The reactions of his classmates and later of his teacher when he stopped after to talk. Keeping his head down as he was lead to the pastor's office. What he was told. How no matter how hard he prayed, how hard he tried, nothing changed. He didn't change.

Yet he did.

No, Kurt Hummel doesn't believe in God. He doesn't believe in Heaven, not anymore. Because he would rather imagine his mom gone forever than in a place where he can never go.

Sometimes, though, he still sends the balloons.