today i thumbed through an old notebook/folder of yours that held your scouting materials. i traced your name, written by you, and breathed in the fact that YOUR hand was once in that same spot.
those moments are becoming fewer. moments of finding something of yours that i haven’t looked through since your death. i suppose that is the upside to my messy house is that i still find things that are in boxes.
i’d love to find something like a poem or story or letter written by you. it could feel like a sign. how i need a sign.
i don’t ask anymore. not for signs. i rarely pray. it hasn’t helped.
i’m reading a book which talks of meditation. i’m hoping to try meditating to see if i hear God. i don’t hear Him. I don’t hear you. I often feel so empty.