To whom I never write about

 To Whom I Never Write About,

This feels like one of those drunken texts I often write and then delete. I want to share the details of my day with you, but more than that, I crave to hear about your church, the new verses you’ve discovered, the prayers you offer, and the letters you write to God. It’s amusing to think of you doing that, but I wish I could buy you a diary, a space to pour your heart out to Him. I believe He’s watching over us, and in my absurd way, I like to think you’re writing to Him about me.

How’s the weather where you are? I imagine it’s hot. I find myself wanting to write about you, feeling that somehow, you’re a part of the good things unfolding in my life. Have you ever spoken to God about me? Do you think He would approve of us? I hope one day you’ll share that with me.

For now, just don’t open the door to those boys yet. There’s someone—an admirer—writing in metaphors, praying to God about what never came to be.

I must go; it’s getting late.

Yours,

The One That Never Happened