He whispered the words in his heart and in his mind, they slipped past his lips, rolled off his tongue, but never were they told in his soul. 'I give up'. Such a simple little phrase that was so close to him, hanging over him like an unshakable cloud.

By this point, he was barely hanging on. It was all wrong – but he could never tell her. He would never tell Sinead how he'd gotten her food, never tell her of the darkness fogging his heart, never say it. Never speak a word.

He would hope. Because that was who he was – hope was written in his nature, even at the bottom he learned to look up again. Maybe it took time, time to heal, but he would and could look up, because he heard a voice in the Heavens, and it was a beautiful voice. And it told him secrets of the future and words of the past.

Loslin was going to come. Every day, everything he did, every action he took, he knew. Because he had been told. By Him. Loslin would come, and there was hope, and he had to hold on; just a little bit longer

.

He loved his brother. He missed him. The physical toll, the emotional weight, he could hardly bare it. He grew wary, weariness pulling down. The heaviness set on his shoulders tried to knock him down.

He refused.

He hoped.

He waited.

God bless!