The Lord must think I'm crazy...
Yesterday, my prayers were oceans,
waves crashing against the heavens,
pleading for all that I now hold.

I wept for love,
for doors to open like jasmine in spring,
for gold-stitched dreams to unfold in my palms—
and He listened.
The sky cracked, and blessings poured.

Yet now, I stand beneath this downpour,
dry as desert dust,
staring at the river I begged for,
afraid to dip my hands.

What is this disbelief?
This hollow ache in a heart that should be singing?
Is it that prayers taste sweeter when unanswered?
Is longing the only thing that ever felt real?

The Lord must think I’m ungrateful,
but I swear, I am only human—
a poet who prayed for the moon
and now wonders if it was lovelier from afar.