"Why aren't you on the street corner?" I sigh, as I berate God for not being where I want him to be. "I've been begging for a sign, but I don't hear anything." I say, and my irate ranting covers the sound of his whispers in my ear.
"Why don't you come to me in a pillar of fire?" I say. "You did it for her, so why am I always left out?" I close my eyes in disgust, and miss the small message coming my way in the form of a paper airplane on a gust of wind.
"Where's my miraculous healing?" I scream, as I further twist my own arm behind my back. "You healed him when he asked, so am I just not important to you?" I say, as I turn my back right before you come to me with a band-aid held in your outstretched hand.
"Why wasn't I listening?" I whisper, when I finally have dropped my facades enough to notice your permanent presence in my bedroom, right there in the corner where I'd stuffed you. "It's okay." You respond, as you hand me a handwritten letter with the answers to all of my questions and doubts. "I was just waiting for permission to hold your hand." You say, as you hold me while I cry, and you paste me back together.
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