I didn’t want to be angry at my ex. I didn’t want to be angry at myself. I didn’t want to view our time together as wasted time, or lessons learned, or any other classic view people take when a relationship dies. I wanted a renewed vision of the time we had spent together. I wanted God to take my feeble natural perspective on things and help me see what He saw, and if it wasn’t asking too much, I still wanted a way to be able to show my ex I cared.
I remember the feeling. I was fourteen years old, lying in my dark bedroom, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling like a starless night sky. I’d pray to feel something, see something. A constellation of His presence. A confirmation of His love. I just wanted to feel close to God.