It was hard to find you.
We were all lost,
you in your head, us in your presence.
You used to paint,
I found you hidden in a watercolor flower.

I save every card I've ever received
stacked tightly in a dented tin box.
You wrote to me and
I found you nebulous and extraordinary.

I'll always be sorry it took me so long
and I'll always fear that you were
never really there.
Maybe a true test of faith
is believing a lie you tell yourself.

If that's the case, then my religion is knowing you.