Father hardly ever comes to visit. That only makes things all the more depressing. As I write this now, my tears stain the page. It feels like this journal is the only place where love dwells. Everything else is so gloomy.
I pour out my deepest feelings in this book, consisting of how much I love you and wish you were here.
At the same time, I’ve drowning in my own sorrows, as I am a sorrowful person. But I still write letters to you in this journal to give me a sense of hope; a feeling that I am not alone. I do this even though you are gone, so it will feel like you are right here with me.
I remember how you used to read me passages from the Bible. I recall the line from 1 Corinthians 13:13, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.â€?
I haven’t been to church since you took me when I was little. I feel as if I let you down.