Silent Conversations

Sometimes I wonder why God kept me here instead of you.
I’ve built a life I never imagined I could, and still, there are those nights.
Nights I sit with the shadow of your absence and wonder why.

Why do I get to laugh when your voice has gone silent?
Why does happiness feel like a betrayal when I still miss you?
Have I earned this second chance, or is that even how it works?

Is my joy the proof I’m moving forward, or the reminder that I left you behind?
They say we’re kept here for a reason, but I wonder if I’ll ever know mine.
Is it hidden in the friendships I’ve made? The nights I’ve survived?

Or in the prayers I’ve whispered when I didn’t believe anyone was listening?
I’ve grown into someone I hope you’d be proud of, but I still carry your memory like an anchor I can’t let go of. It keeps me steady, even as it holds me back.

Perhaps faith is trusting there’s meaning, even when it’s too big for me to see.
Maybe it’s in the laughter I thought I’d lost, or the light I’ve found in others.
Perhaps it’s in the way your absence taught me to hold on tighter, to love deeper.

Or in the quiet moments when I wonder if you’re still watching, still proud.
And maybe, just maybe, faith is learning to live without all the answers—
To carry the questions and your memory with me, side by side.