I prayed today, and hope filled in the place that has been pain. I don’t know what it means, I don’t even know why I prayed… I think it’s because, when you’re at your wit’s end on a certain problem or circumstance, you tend to try anything left.
And it’s funny how a little thing like talking to something up there in the sky can make you feel better, without even changing something tangible in your life. But that’s just it, isn’t it? Wasn’t something about changing my mind?

No, I’m not good at believing in things that can’t be seen, and I’m suspicious of intentions quite a lot. The space between what people say and what they really mean haunts me more than I’d like to admit, more than is healthy—yet there’s something in believing I can’t quit. It’s magnetic. Even when I push away, I feel myself pulled back.
No, I don’t know what it means, but it’s an undeniably good feeling, and I have to say,
I don’t want to give it back.

Life and loss may steal my faith quite often, and
I have trouble with the rules and the rhymes. But a spirit—perhaps, a seed—of hope and faith and love and trust live within me still, and, despite all my doubt, conspire to make the picture more complete.