Uncertainty

Sitting on the edge of her bed,
lamplight flickering
like an uncertain prayer.
Her fingers trace the threads
of her quilt,
a tapestry of promises made
and not kept.

She remembers her mother’s whispers:
God has a plan,
but plans feel cruel
when they leave spaces
the world can't fill.

Maybe God is just the ache in her chest
when prayers fall unanswered,
or the shadow of expectations
crumbling when light reveals their emptiness,
or the thing that makes her weep
and call it hope.

But still,
she whispers into the dark,
to a God who might not be listening,
because sadness is a kind of faith,
and she's just too human to stop.