How are you? Is that even a valid question?
What is it like to be God?
What is it like to look down on each and every one of us, watching us go through this journey we call life?
I’ve been bad lately, and I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you like I should.
What do you think of me? What do you think of the things I do?
What goes through your mind when you look at my thoughts?
What did you have in plan when you decided I should be born?
I do things, and I feel bad because I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling.
Sometimes I wish I could see you face to face, sit away at some isolated place and talk about anything & everything.
I wish I could hear your voice distinctly, whether it rumbles and thunders or is simply soft, like that of one who whispers sweet nothings.
I’m sorry my bible is still there, gathering dust.
I’m sorry I screw up everyday.
I wish I could see you, have you take me by the hand as we gaze over the world and the wonders in it.
I wish I could ask you the questions which threaten to rip me apart, and sit, looking up at you as you answer in all your all-knowing manner.
Until then, I’m trying to be better.
I don’t want to let you down.