A few years ago, I had one of those moments where I suddenly remembered a movie I hadn’t thought about in years. I couldn’t recall the title so I had to do some googling before rediscovering it. That night, I went home and watched it with my roommate.

Dragonfly is the story of a man grieving the death of his pregnant wife. He starts to fixate on a mysterious symbol surfacing repeatedly in a series of unusual events, causing those around him to worry about his grasp on reality in the midst of deep emotional pain. Dragonfly has all the hallmarks of my favorite movies: It’s mystical, emotionally nuanced, and centers around a character the world views as crazy but who can’t seem to shake the gut-level intuition pulling him in a strange direction. As a skeptical Christian, I relate strongly to stories about grappling with the tensions between rationality, spirituality, cynicism and childlike faith. Dragonfly explores these themes in a particularly visceral context. The ending never fails to leave me weeping and covered in goosebumps.