What happens from here, Joshua?
I keep asking you, although I know I should find the answer myself. If you were here, perhaps you'd say that it's my choice, that you won't take responsibility for my life, but also that I should try harder for what I want. Perhaps you'd tell me that you're sorry.
I feel as though I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere, and supposed to walk out--but walk where? I find myself staring at the starless sky asking you the same question: where now, Joshua? Don't you think you should take some responsibility for what happened?
I can't seem to find the way forward. And for now maybe that's okay. Maybe that's just fine.
Is it good where you are? Are things okay where you are? Are you watching over us, over our pitiful human struggles, or are you in eternal sleep, a final rest? If it's the former, I know you're in someplace good. If it's the latter, then you did well this life. You did more than enough. I hope you rest well.
We miss you.