My alarm pierces through the last layers of whatever dream I was in. Mornings are hard lately, but this one feels worse. Nothing has been going right this year, and honestly, I just can’t find a reason to get out of bed.

I was always told growing up that prayer is the answer to all of your problems. Like if you just spoke the words from your heart, the sky would part and Heaven would listen.

I guess in the days where they didn’t have such an accessible connection to the Man up above, that was easy to believe. Only the special ones could hear his words, or see his magic happen in person. Almost like He was still a mystery.

Now, He’s always there and “available”. 

And like I do every other morning, I send Him a text.

“Good morning, God. Thank you for your blessing as I wake another day. I pray you bestow your knowledge on me as I work to be better. Amen.”

Delivered.

I sulk and drag myself to the bathroom. 

Nothing feels stimulating or enjoyable. Showers just heat and noise that feel like a chore. Leaving the house is a hassle. And spending time with anyone feels mentally draining. Like I’m a puppet performing for the circus.

Staring at myself in the mirror, toothbrush in my mouth, I can’t remember the last time there was a genuine smile on my face. My eyes look exhausted, like I’ve been working 20 hours a day and fighting back the urge to cry. The light looks dim, like it’s on the verge of being extinguished, and I can’t help but feel dejected by what I need to do to feel better.

I splash water on my face like maybe it’ll wash off the heaviness, but it doesn’t.

The ringer for my group chat with my work buzzes in the other room. Memes, Monday assignments, a link to a new training we need to complete by next week.

And a read receipt from Him.

No reply.

I can’t help but scroll back in the messages. 

It feels like it’s been years, but it’s only been seven months. 

Why hasn’t he replied? 

What have I done?

I used to feel something when I prayed. Warmth, hope, sometimes even a little flurry in my chest, like He was right there in front of me. 

Now it’s like I’m throwing pennies into a dry fountain.

I get dressed on autopilot; same hoodie, same jeans, same nothing-to-prove uniform. 

Breakfast? A sip of water and a bite of whatever’s not expired.

On the walk to the train station, I stare at the sky like it might finally show me a sign. Like maybe God just forgot to turn on my notifications.

The clouds pass by like my silent, fleeting thoughts. Just before I step onto the platform, I put my headphones in.

And in one ear, clear and calm, a voice says:

“I hear you, and I promise things will change when you’re ready to listen.”

-The Blunt Siren