I told him I had once lost everything I had, too, and that I think that can be God’s way of building walls around us to force us to look up at Him.
I didn’t answer. We were not buddies. We could not chat about the proximity of our offices, or football, or forgiveness.
Unfortunately, he still hadn’t asked for my number, or a date, or my hand in marriage, and my drink was getting low.
We kissed each other until we were too tired to keep going. I could still feel him holding back. It was my penance for what I had done to him. All I could do was hope the walls would fall and that I could have all of him again, but I was always leaving and he was tired of watching me walk away. We both knew that I couldn’t stay and that he couldn’t come with me, but still, we couldn’t let go.
And so I just kept writing to myself.
I decided I would fill the emptiness in me with God and with paint.