Drift

I write letters, a lot of letters. When I’m frustrated, sad, happy, or even content in life, I constantly write. Do people get them? Sometimes, but they’re mostly for me and what I feel so I can get a better understanding of myself. This is a letter to God, but also carries remnants of other love I’ve had. It’s part of a broader letter, but this part stood out to me the most.

It’s difficult not knowing if you are there all the time, but there are spurs of your presence once in a while. And as happy as I am in those moments, I wonder why I cannot have that pleasant feeling all the time. Maybe so I can learn gratitude or other qualities that I need. But the distance between us seems cruel at times.

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