I lost my way some time ago. Some days I wish I could pin point exactly when so that maybe I could figure out what it was that I did so wrong. Lately, I’m just hoping I can find my way again. I listen to him preach sometimes. Sit there in a solemn corner away from judging eyes and callous hearts, just listening. His voice feels like heaven, his words feel like home. With every scripture follows the bereaving cries of my mourning heart, ridden with guilt and sin. Faith has often thwarted my belief, so I can’t say I have much left to believe in. But the echo in his voice, the sound of God whispering in my ear, has my soul begging for contrition. I can feel the tingling sensation of conviction run down my spine, taste the fading allure of creed. Maybe I’m not so lost after all.