Time has not filled the void you left when Eli and I were just nine years old. As I cloister myself here, sprinkling the pages of another journal with my emotions, I image that you see through my eyes, and write through my quill. It is this insanity that keeps me sane while my days spent digging for answers to questions that constantly change consume my sheltered life. If only your spirit could materialize into the Mother I need you to be once again. But reality reminds me otherwise. My only hope is that connecting with you, in these quiet and sometimes not so quiet moments of reflection, will uncover truths that liberate us all.
But will they come soon enough?