Dear, God
If anyone could hear my cries, it would be you.
All knowing, all powerful.
Dad tells me that God listens to children first.
Is that true?
I never want to write him as the bad guy. Just the true stories that sit in my head, and in my hands.
Dad had a brain injury in 1994. It wasn’t the same again. I was four years old. My life, and everything I knew. Gone. In.an.instant
(I keep hearing the buzzword: Demon-mode. That is the only way I can explain it)
Nothing stands in the path.
All is null.
Dear God, you are all knowing, all powerful. I believe you when you tell me that everything happens for a reason. I really do.
I hear two sources, one of divine light, and one of fear. I want to stick to the divine light for now.
I keep worrying about the days of darkness. Is that something a child should worry about?
My cousin started smoking. We are only ten years old. I’m told its bad for you, so I say no.
What is she dealing with?
She won’t tell me.
It must be bad.
She has migraines like me.
