Until then, my dear, all I can do for you is pray. Pray that someday you come to God for something nicer to say. Cherry memories of apple blossoms and sakoya leaves abound. Surely, one day, through God's grace, you'll come around. I look forward to the day when He touches your life. All of your pain. Your suffering and strife. All aged away in ash. Turned to happiness. To joy. To meaning of longsuffering. No more wandering. No more darkness. No suffering under satan's lash. May that day be merry, when you are filled with His Spirit. Only then will it have meaning. Only then will you have feeling. Only then will it have merit. So heed, my friend, to begin your healing. Let the word of God be a seed onto you duelly planted in water. Some day you'll be teaching these words to your son and daughter. In that day, my friend, you need not remember me. But remember Him. He that you cannot see. He will surely be with thee if thy light were to dim. I know I'll meet you there someday. It is certain and for it I shall pray. Then, surely, on that day it will be you who is searching for something to say. As surely as He loves you and me, He'll fix your broken philosophy. ~9:56 PM 12/18/2003
