You Just Might Write Back

 

Dear God...

This is not praise.

This is inventory.

I asked you for strength, and got survival.

I asked for love, and learnt endurance.

I asked for doors to open, and was taught how to knock until pain memorized my hands.

I wanted mornings that didn’t argue with my chest.

Silence that didn’t scream back.

People who stayed without explanations.

None of that came true.

Instead, you gave me time.

Long. Stubborn. Time.

The kind that watches dreams rot and calls it process.

I wrote down every almost.

Every prayer that rang once then went to voicemail.

Every miracle that stopped halfway, like heaven got tired too.

If this is a test, I’ve been answering with my whole body.

If this is preparation, I am exhausted from being unfinished.

So don’t send Angels.

Don’t fix my tone.

Just read this, as it is.

I’m not ungrateful.

I’m honest.

And tonight, honesty is the only thing still brave enough to believe you might write back.

© amimoh