You hold me as if I were a child, waiting to be nurtured. Why is it that we always whine to those who have given us the most? I can tell you... no one can truly fathom the depth of your sacrifices. When will a "thank you" be sufficient? It never will, but you accept it as if it were a compliment. You're always knocking at the door, but does anyone ever answer? It only takes twelve inches, two steps, to open the door, but it seems to be one of the hardest tasks of humanity. The only difference is that those twelve inches are the distance between the head and the heart. How can you be so selfless, yet so incredibly courageous? You are perfect. I wish I was perfect, but I'm not, so I'll have to just follow the example you give me. Why can't we all just believe? You don't have to see to believe, that's where faith comes in. Faith, that's what keeps love going and magically heals sickness. But does anyone really have it anymore? We demand miracles to believe. And, even when miracles happen, we still don't accept the fact that they are real. What made us so picky that we can't even accept something that was given to us? I can't tell you, but you know already. You're the one who can put death to its own death and bring life to life. I know no one else who can turn lifeless black and white into living color. Thank you for knocking on my door. Thank you for turning my black and white into a whole spectrum of different colors. I understand how one can be alive, yet be dead on the inside. So, most of all, thank you for life, not just physical life, but spiritual life. What is my purpose? I can't answer that question yet, but for now I can be satisfied with being myself and striving to be worthy of all that I have received from you. Don't take this as a rambling of feelings, but as a serious promise. You knew what your purpose was, and now I need to find mine.