One question was on my mind, where did he go? He left. Not a why? Or a where? Just left. But he didn't leave, he was taken.
I know he was taken. He would have said if he was leaving. He must have been taken. He has to have been taken.
I was going to find him. I had to find him. I need to find him. But I don't know where to start.
I've looked at his house and all the places he loves... Nothing. I'm slowly giving up hope.
Everyday I lose a little bit of hope. Everyday a little bit of my heart disappears. Everyday I die a little inside.
Each day, I miss him more. Each day, I prayer for him to come home. Each day, I prayer for him to come back to me.
Taken. Taken. Taken. It repeats over and over again in my head.
Every hour, of every day I hope to see his face again. People say I should forget him. That he's probably dead.
I'm starting to think that he's dead, though my heart says he's not.
