A lonely girl wrote a question to god on a small white paper. She folded it three times and placed it in her pocket. Every now and then she would take it out and look at it when she thought no one else was looking. Peek at it in secluded places, waiting for an answer. The girl got older and the paper got older, the creases became permanent and the paper browned with dirt and with age. Still she kept the scrap of paper as she matured though she didn't look at it as often.
She kept to looking at it on important days only. She didn't want to rush god's response. She understood that when she was impulsive as a child she wasn't ready yet to have god's answer, now she was a patient woman. God would answer her question, she had absolute faith. It was the only one she had ever asked of god. She grew older and the paper grew older with her. She kept with her always and was always careful of it, treasuring it dearly. And then, one day, she woke and it was gone. She searched everywhere but could not find the question she asked god. She had read it so many times but she had actually forgotten what the question had been. Was this the answer? What did it mean? The woman sat down, still in her pajamas, and cried.
She felt the same when she was done crying, now only more snotty and with less breath. An emptiness she had filled with hope, with a small white folded piece of paper asking a question of god, was now empty and years of neglecting the hole hit her hard. The emptiness was full and complete and she was hollow and alone.