I remember when this whole thing began...

... no talk of G-d then, we called you a man...

I miss my faith.

There was a time when I would blindly have acepted faith on its own terms. It wasn't merely a childish thing: it was perhaps the size of a mere grain of mustard, but I truly believe a mountain might have moved upon my simple request. Not now. Not anymore.

Sometimes I blame this country. I think it was the sudden change of life that brought in doubt and then, through shame, all that follows.

Sometimes I blame my father. His sins shine oh so brightly upon my forehead--my face is his face. I remember every sin I never did repent, so many... so very, very many.

It's not like I don't believe. It's not like I'm some sort of agnostic. I believe, with every fiber in my mortal heart.

And still, I miss my faith. I left it somewhere in my messy room. Perhaps I left it in the church where a priest said he couldn't come pray over my dead brother's body, because what's the point--he was already dead. Perhaps I left it in the bed where I lay, right before surgery, when the priest told me I would go to hell for marrying a Baptist in a non-Catholic church. Perhaps I left it in the ground where we buried my father--30 feet away from a statue of St. Judas, not six months after I lit a candle asking for his help. Perhaps I left it in the house my father abandoned just to save my life 24 years ago, after dedicating his life to the cause that drove him out.

Perhaps G-d just took it away.

I don't know. I never know... not anymore.

I miss my faith.